Life in a Bottle
by DezoPenguin
Summary: LilletxAmoretta. An unknown enemy holds Lillet over a razor's edge when Amoretta's flask is taken. Now Lillet must dance to her foe's tune while trying to save the life of the one who means everything to her.
1. Prologue

Keys rattled with the clunk of iron, a dull, sturdy thud that felt like a reminder that this was a dungeon, all solid stone and metal and thick wood. A moment later, the massive door, four-inch-thick oak except for a steel grill for viewing and a slot through which a food tray could be passed, swung open.

"Get up, Beammest," barked the familiar voice of the guard. He added in sneering tones, "Seems you've got yourself a visitor."

Runcifer James Beammest, former master thief, current occupant of his own private chunk of the hellhole called Bastion Donjon-Keep, or more colloquially "the Pit," looked up with vague interest. Runce had no idea who would be visiting him.

"Oh," he said, rapidly losing even that slight curiosity. "A priest."

"At least someone thinks your soul's worth something," the guard said, then hawked a gob of phlegm onto the cell floor. "Me, I can't see why you're worth the trouble."

"In the eyes of God," said the priest archly, "all are equal, be they saint or sinner."

Runce looked at the guard and rolled his eyes; captor and prisoner were in complete agreement on that point.

"Do I have to put up with this sermonizer?"

"Perhaps you do not take the condition of your soul very seriously, Mr. Beammest, but I can assure you that I do. I know my duty, and I will not be swayed by your flippant attitude." The priest turned to the guard, looking down his arched, patrician nose. "Please leave us now, so I may minister to this poor sinner."

"Yeah, fine. Just holler when you need me to let you out." The guard looked from Runce to the priest and back again. "Don't know which of you two to feel sorry for."

The lock grated as the guard refastened it. The priest just stood, staring down at Runce while the man's footsteps receded down the hall.

"So," Runce said, making no attempt to conceal his disinterest, "are you going to say something or just stand there staring at me?"

"Be silent, fool," snapped the priest. "I bore even myself with these games and have no wish to continue them unnecessarily."

He'd finally said something that attracted Runce's interest.

"You're no priest."

"Quite correct."

"Who sent you?"

"That's hardly important."

The false priest opened the front of his cassock. Something moved within the black fabric, causing it to flex and shift, and then something leapt out onto the palm of the priest's long-fingered hand. It was, Runce noted at second glance, a nasty little black rat, with a pointed, twitching nose and tousled fur.

"What the hell?"

"Quite apt, Mr. Beammest. This is my associate, Tempell. Tempell, please meet Mr. Beammest."

"Don't waste time," the rat spoke in a low, growly yet hissing voice that sounded entirely unnatural. _But then again, what is natural about a rat speaking?_

"I suppose so. Go on, Tempell."

The rat sprang from the false priest's palm to Runce's shoulder. Runce flinched and started to swat the creature away, but his hand froze in mid-slap.

"He's mine now," the rat said. Runce found his body moving without his will, sitting up straight, folding his hands in his lap, and looking up at the priest's face. He tried to resist, then to move in some other way, but was completely unable, not even so much as to make a finger twitch.

"What the hell's going on?" he cried, finding that he still had the faculty of speech.

"Isn't it obvious, Mr. Beammest? Tempell has taken control of your body. He now decides when and how you move."

"Magic..."

"Quite right. Magicians and sorcerers perform feats that defy physical law by commanding spirits, be they of nature or hell or the dead, to use their supernatural powers on the magician's behalf. These spirits are called familiars, and of course, Tempell is my familiar."

"I didn't ask for a lecture."

Runce raised his right hand and, to his horror, slapped himself across the face.

"Don't try to be cute," the rat threatened. "Just listen up and answer questions when you're asked."

"Still," noted the false priest, "the demonstration was an effective one. A man such as Mr. Beammest isn't inclined to just spill his secrets to any curious bystander. He requires an incentive, something to convince him that it is in his best interests to do so."

"Who are you?" Runce couldn't resist asking.

"That isn't important for you to know. Tempell?"

Runce's hand came up and slapped himself again, hard.

"Let's stop wasting time, please. You're going to tell me about the crime that landed yourself here, your attempted theft from the royal palace."

"Wait, is that all? You could have gotten that story from the guards, the judge, the spectators at the trial, all kinds of people."

"Ah, but what I want is the pure, unadulterated truth, Mr. Beammest, shorn of any of the dramatic embellishments of second- and third-hand accounts. Those sources were fine to pique my interest and raise questions, but now I require answers. You broke into the Royal House of Magic in the palace, did you not? How did you accomplish that?"

"I'm a Master Thief, aren't I? It wasn't hard to slip past a bunch of overpaid, underworked royal guards."

"And what of the magical defenses? Surely no royal family, or even less a group of magicians, would rely only on physical security?"

"I don't know what there was. I had an amulet that let me get past magical wards and symbols without triggering them."

"Really? The Hidden Eye? Those are quite rare, Mr. Beammest. You are to be congratulated on your good fortune."

"Yeah, it all turned out so well for me, didn't it?"

He knew the blow was coming before his hand even moved, only it wasn't a slap but a clout from his closed fist. Colors flashed, blurring his vision as pain spiked through his jaw.

"Do not be flippant. You entered into the room of one particular magician and attempted to steal a certain flask, did you not?"

Runce's immediate reaction was, _Well, if you knew that, then why are you here?_ The pain in his jaw and the coppery taste of blood from where the inside of his cheek had been cut on his teeth gave him the incentive to suppress it.

"Yes."

"Now, why did you pick that one flask to steal?"

"It looked valuable. It wasn't in an ordinary stand, but in a carefully braced and padded one so it couldn't be accidentally broken. I figured that made it worth something."

The false priest nodded.

"Indeed, I would have reasoned similarly. Did you find out what the flask contained?"

"I don't know."

Runce's arm started to come up, but the priest raised his hand to forestall the blow.

"Not just yet, Tempell. Please explain yourself, Mr. Beammest. I would think you either did or did not learn what was in the flask."

"It was weird. It was almost full of this yellow goop, right? Then the girl who owns the room came busting in. She got all panicky when she saw I had the flask, begging me not to drop it, to put it back, and so on. That meant it was some big, important deal, so there was no way I'd let it go, even after she offered to let me walk away free."

"She offered that, did she?"

"I asked her what was in it, and she started to say 'my love,' so I figured it was some kind of love potion. But then, I swear the goop came alive and crawled out of the bottle! I freaked out so much I dropped the flask, and the magician girl went diving across the room to catch it. She did something then and I went out like a snuffed candle--at the trial they said it was a sleeping spell--but I swear to you that yellow stuff turned into another girl, right in front of me!"

"Did it, now?"

"Maybe it was just a dream from when I was under the sleep spell, 'cause believe me, she looked like the kind of girl a man would dream about."

"But you don't think so."

Runce would have shaken his head if he could move his neck.

"No, I'm sure it was real, at least as sure as I can be under the circumstances."

The false priest nodded gravely.

"I, too, believe what you say."

He reached inside his cassock again, and took out a crude knife. It was nothing more than a strip of thin metal, a piece off a banded door or something similar, that had been honed by rubbing it against some hard object. In other words, the kind of shank that one might expect to find among a prison population. Runce tried to scream, but he found that his vocal cords had been frozen, so he could only look on in terror as the false priest handed him the shank and his body took it.

"Guard! Guard!" the priest called. The footsteps returned. "I'm ready to go now, guard." To Runce he added softly, "You really should have taken Miss Blan's offer."

The guard's face appeared at the grill, and seeing Runce apparently sitting on his bench in a non-threatening posture and well away from the door, the turnkey unlocked the cell.

"Any luck converting the faithful?"

"I believe that he feels genuine remorse for his sinful actions, and is plagued by regrets for the evil he has done. I can only hope that over time he accepts God's mercy and forgiveness."

The guard snorted.

"Begging your pardon, Father, but I'll believe it when I see it."

"I'm certain that Mr. Beammest will surprise you with the depth of his remorse."

The men left, and the guard re-locked the door.

"He plays too many games," Tempell complained. "Ah, well, at least now I can get this over with." Runce's arm brought out the shank, and in the next instant he'd thrust it home up under his ribs, piercing the heart with surgical efficiency. The thief toppled forward off the bench, and died on the filthy stone floor. Tempell surveyed the work, decided it was well-done with a satisfied squeak, then scampered up the door, squeezed through the grill, and scuttled up the passage to rejoin his master.

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_NOTES: This story falls not long after "Thief of Hearts," as those of you who read that story will realize from Runce's appearance here--not so much a true sequel as a natural progression on a theme._

_One thing I've been dissatisfied about in my previous GrimGrimoire fiction is the fact that, to put it bluntly, Lillet appears as a bit of a watering pot. That's largely a function of the plots--she's being caught up in romantic angst and worry, and so therefore she isn't at her best. But I also wanted to see the Lillet we know from the game, the heroine who feeds Calvaros to Grimlet before tricking that devil into imprisoning himself in Hell, then blasts through Calvaros's Runes to shatter the Philosopher's Stone. There's a reason, after all, that Gammel tells her to her face in the Epilogue that there's nothing he has left to teach her. So in this longer story, with villains and evil plots aplenty, we get to see the magician as well as the lover._

_"Thief of Hearts" readers already know the origin of Runcifer James "Jim Beam" Beammest's name while Tempell's name comes from the same source as Margarita's frog Surely in the game: the Shirley Temple cocktail. Since the familiars aren't human, they apparently get non-alcoholic names. ;)_


	2. Chapter 1

"So, Miss Blan, I suppose that you don't have much experience with this sort of party."

Baron de Sangri's tone was amiable enough, but Lillet Blan couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden barb behind his words. Was he implying that she was being so horribly gauche that it was plain she had no idea how to act? Or that she was a jumped-up peasant who had no reason to be encroaching on her betters?

Lillet supposed that the doubts largely stemmed from her own lack of comfort in the role of a lady. She was much more used to her black-and-purple clothes, not this lavender ball gown, to having her honey-blonde hair tumbling loose down her back instead of being pinned up in an elaborate coiffure. A library, a laboratory, even a battlefield--any of these she'd be comfortable with, not Lady Anheuser's grand parlor. The truth was, though, that a Royal Magician was as much a part of the palace court as any knight or noble, and it carried with it certain social obligations.

Since she didn't know if de Sangri had any hidden intentions, she answered the question honestly.

"No, I haven't. I grew up in the country before I started studying magic. When I got the invitation, I had to ask one of the other magicians what a musicale is." She smiled brightly. "He said it's kind of like a concert, only instead of going to the theater, the hostess brings the performer here."

"I am looking forward to hearing La Bacardi sing," said Lillet's companion. Amoretta Virgine's slender form and fine-boned, elegant beauty perfectly suited her simple silver dress; that, with her pale complexion and nearly white hair, made her look like she was nobly born, perfectly in place.

The Baron chuckled.

"Then you will be one among a minority here tonight."

"If they do not want to hear the music, then why attend?" Amoretta said in her matter-of-fact way. One of the things Lillet loved about the other girl was the sheer purity of her honesty. Whether it was curiosity, reason, or her emotions, she never hesitated to express the truth in plain, direct words.

"Why, for the same reason that we courtiers do anything, Miss Virgine. We come to see and to be seen, to dance the great dance of politics, influence, and power. The battle lines of society are drawn here, and we fight them as valiantly as warriors fight in battle."

"I see."

"Now, Stefan, don't go telling them all our secrets," a second man said, approaching them. "It wouldn't do to have them realize what fribbles we nobles really are. Particularly," he added, taking Amoretta's hand and sweeping a bow over it, "such a charming lady as Miss Virgine, here. We would not want to give her a bad impression of us." He brushed his lips over the back of her fingers in a kiss.

"Please don't do that," Amoretta said, pulling her hand back, then lacing her fingers through Lillet's to keep them out of reach.

De Sangri laughed.

"I see that someone has the good sense to resist your blandishments, Thomas."

The newcomer smiled, without the slightest sign that Amoretta's reaction had stung. Perhaps it hadn't, if he was only playing games.

"I apologize for my forwardness," he said expansively, "but I could not help but be overcome by this fair maiden's beauty. It is as if an angel has descended among us."

Amoretta and Lillet both broke into giggles. Thomas, after all, had hit on the literal truth--Amoretta's spirit _was_ an angel's, used as the core for her artificially-spawned body. In truth, she wasn't human at all, but an experimental homunculus created by Lillet's former Alchemy professor, Dr. Chartreuse Grande.

Thomas brushed a stray hair out of his eyes.

"Was it something I said?"

"Undeniably," de Sangri noted. "But since you've amused the ladies, I shall introduce you. Baron Thomas Collins, the lady you are rhapsodizing over is as I believe you overheard, Miss Amoretta Virgine."

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he offered. Like de Sangri, Collins was around twenty-five, and his strong, square features and red hair made a good match to his friend's olive-skinned, dark, saturnine look. Both, of course, were elegantly dressed in the height of noble fashion, with white shirts and breeches, lace at wrists and throat, shoes polished to a high gloss, and fancifully embroidered waistcoats and jackets.

"Thank you for apologizing."

"Her _companion_," de Sangri said meaningfully, "is the Royal Magician Lillet Blan."

Lillet smiled brightly as Collins faded to ash-pale.

"It's nice to meet you," she said.

Collins swallowed.

"Likewise, Miss Blan. Aren't you the prodigy who graduated from the Silver Star Tower in less than a year?"

"Well, it depends on how you're counting, but I think you do mean me." She'd actually finished all the courses of study in five days--days relived many times over thanks to a twisted warp in time created by the Philosopher's Stone. At twenty, she was rapidly outstripping the other magicians at the Royal House of Magic, practitioners who were two or three--or five or ten--times her age. There were whispers that Her Majesty intended to name Lillet as a Mage Consul, a rank never before given to anyone under seventy. Lillet found it all to be ferociously embarrassing.

"You're the one who destroyed the Archmage Calvaros, aren't you?"

Lillet blushed.

"I don't know how these stories get started."

Collins nervously tugged at his collar.

"I don't think I'd really look all that good as a toad," he said. "There's nothing in my wardrobe that goes with a green complexion, y'know."

De Sangri laughed, making Lillet only blush hotter. _It's not like I go around putting curses on everyone who thinks Amoretta is pretty!_ If someone tried to hurt her, that would be another thing, but this was nothing but silly.

"Relax, Lord Collins," she said. Trying to defuse the tension with humor, she added, "I may only be a country girl, but even I know it's simply not done to do magic tricks at a musicale. I only turn people into toads at rout parties."

Amoretta giggled, and Collins looked relieved, glad he hadn't blundered badly.

"Why don't the two of you join us?" Lillet offered. "The music ought to be starting soon."

De Sangri nodded.

"Yes, it ought. In fact, I think it should have started already." He took a watch on a fancy golden chain out of his waistcoat pocket. "Half past eight, indeed. I think something may be wrong."

"We should go see. Lady Anheuser is a friend of m'mother's and all."

Collins's suggestion seemed to be a good one; they soon found their hostess out back, in a side hall that led to spare bedrooms which had been set aside as dressing rooms. The elegant, gray-haired society matron was almost on the verge of hysteria as she pleaded with a plump, mustachioed man wearing evening dress that on first glance looked fashionable but on a closer examination was threadbare and not of the quality of de Sangri's or Collins's.

"My lady," the man was saying as the four approached, "I am deeply sorry, but there is nothing we can do. Of course we will return the fee, but La Bacardi simply cannot sing tonight."

"What's wrong, Lady Anheuser?" Collins asked. "Can we be of assistance?"

"What? Oh, Lord Collins!" she said, spinning. Obviously the family connection was as strong as he'd suggested because she immediately started confessing her problem, which Lillet was pretty sure she wouldn't do to a casual guest. "This is Maria Bacardi's manager. He says that La Bacardi has come down with a cold in her throat and will not be able to sing!"

"That kind of takes the 'music' part out of 'musicale,' doesn't it?"

"Is she here?" Lillet asked. "I don't know how useful it might be against disease, but I could summon a few elves to take a look at her."

"Summon...? Ah, you are a magician, young miss?" asked the manager. "It is very kind, but no, La Bacardi is home in bed. She sent me with her regrets to Lady Anheuser."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"What am I going to do?" moaned the lady. "My musicale will be ruined! I'll be a laughingstock."

"That's not even fair," Collins protested.

"Um...I could sing."

Everyone stopped and turned to Amoretta.

"You?" Lady Anheuser said.

"Amoretta has a beautiful voice," Lillet spoke up. It was true, not just her sticking up for her love. When Amoretta sang, it was if the angel's spirit within her was let free from its fleshly restraint and allowed to soar.

"Show me," the manager said. Let us all hear, and we will see."

"Practical," de Sangri admitted.

"All right," Amoretta said, and with no further ado started in on an aria from _Winter's Lament_. She and Lillet had seen that opera at the Royal Theater two weeks past, and so far as Lillet could tell Amoretta had a nearly photographic memory for music. Her voice was an exquisite, clear soprano like the chiming of crystal and the passion she put into it made the already tragic song almost heartbreakingly sad. She stopped after a couple of minutes at a break between verses.

"Will that be all right?" she asked ingenuously.

"All right? She asks if it will be all right?" Collins rhapsodized. "It was wonderful, enchanting, magnificent! I've never heard a voice like that before!"

"It really was incredible, Amoretta," Lillet said.

"But...there are tears in your eyes," she said hesitantly, then brushed her fingertips over Lillet's lashes, feeling the wetness caught there. "Did I make you unhappy?"

"No, Amoretta, not at all. It's just that you made the emotions of the song touch me so deeply." She took Amoretta's hand in hers and held it against her cheek, not caring that there were four other people watching (or perhaps, whispered some petty part of her soul, glad that at least one of them was watching, to make a point to the overeager Baron Collins).

"Miss," the manager said, "I do not know who you are, but if you ever consider a career on the stage, I beg that you consider me, Ouzowen. Between your voice and your beauty, I should make of you a sensation." He pressed a piece of pasteboard, no doubt his card, on her.

"Well, we've had any number of glowing opinions," remarked de Sangri, "but what of the one who matters? Will Miss Virgine do, Lady Anheuser?"

Their hostess had been watching Amoretta with Lillet intently.

"Will she! I should say so. To discover such a brilliant new talent for the first time will make my musicale a smashing success. The other ladies will be positively green with envy!"

"Why would you want to inspire envy?"

"Your innocence matches your name, Miss Virgine," de Sangri teased. "Why, there is no goal higher among we courtiers than to leave our rivals gnawing their livers over how badly they've been outdone. It keeps us out from underfoot while the rest of the world gets on with the business of living their lives and people like Miss Blan keep the kingdom running. Convenient for everyone, really."

"You're so droll, Baron," Lillet told him, chuckling. "You remind me of one of my magic professors."

"Is it a compliment to be compared to Mr. Advocat?" Amoretta wondered.

"Of course! You can tell that Baron de Sangri likes to put on Mephistophelean airs, so he should be glad that he's a success."

Collins grinned at his friend.

"Don't look now, old boy, but I think she just scored one off you...though I'm not sure exactly how."

"Women are mysterious creatures, Thomas, and how much more so when one is a magician."

To say that Amoretta's performance was a success would be an epic understatement. While the initial news of La Bacardi's illness was received with grumbles and displeasure, the guests' mood reversed with Amoretta's first song. Even Lillet, who'd heard Amoretta sing many times before, was impressed by how well she adapted to the needs of a performance, though she still preferred it when Amoretta would sing privately for the sheer joy of music. If Lady Anheuser's goal was to build envy in the hearts of those absent, then she'd surely succeeded, for Amoretta's performance was sure to be a nine days' wonder in Court Society.

"That was amazing!" Lillet rhapsodized on the way home.

"Do you really think so, Lillet?" Amoretta asked, her face flushed with the excitement.

"Of course I do! Your voice is amazing; you know that. You were a sensation!"

"The guests did seem to like me. It felt surprisingly good to perform for them."

"Well, it ought to. Love is what you need, after all, and they loved you."

Amoretta shook her head.

"That's not _love_, Lillet. That's only admiration, maybe reverence and awe. Love...is what you give me." She brushed Lillet's cheek gently with her fingertips. "There's all the difference in the world."

"Thank you," Lillet said softly. "You liked performing, though?"

"I did."

"Then are you thinking of taking Mr. Ouzowen up on his offer? If he manages Maria Bacardi, he must be good at his job; she's the newest star soprano in the city."

Amoretta pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"I was, actually. I like to sing, and to make people happy by performing for them is attractive. It would also give me the chance to do something for us, if I could make some money singing."

"But I make plenty of money as a Royal Magician for us both--or was there something that you had your eye on buying?"

"No, that's not it. It's not the _amount_ of money, it's because it would give me the chance to contribute something for us."

"I don't understand."

Amoretta smiled, that shy, sweet expression Lillet loved.

"I didn't think you would; it's one of the things that makes you so special. First you saved my life, when the professors wanted to use the angel within me against Grimlet, and then your love gave me a reason to exist. So many people struggle within themselves to find their place in life, but at least they're born naturally. I was _created_, an artificial thing made in a laboratory. What right do I even have to exist, if there is not some purpose for me to achieve? You gave me that purpose, Lillet."

"Amoretta..."

"But what do I give back to you? I _need_ your love, but you only _want_ mine. I make you happy, but you would still be Lillet without me. It's the same way in the world--you protect me, keep me safe, earn what we need to live. Even your reputation protects us. There are a lot of people in the world, still, who believe two women in love is a deviance from the natural order, or even a sin against God, but we can live together openly and freely because you're Royal Magician Lillet Blan, the prodigy whom everyone says is the greatest magician since Lujei and Calvaros. I...I want to be able to do something, no matter how small, to try and repay you for all that you are to me."

"Oh, Amoretta, that's...but I don't want anything else from you than to be who you are."

"I know. I _said_ that. But _I_ want to do something, not because you require it of me but for my own sake."

"Then in that case...you'd better have them reserve me a ticket for every opening night!"

"Then it's all right with you?"

"Amoretta, all I want is whatever makes you happy." There was a tiny part of Lillet that felt a sting, a jealous possessiveness that regretted Amoretta giving some of herself to anyone else, but she knew that part of herself too well to give it voice. A magician who was any sort of success at the art of sorcery had to know that seed of weakness and be able to overcome it, because that was what devils played upon. Lillet knew better than to give in, and it applied to real life as well as it did to magic.

When Amoretta took her arm and snuggled up against her enthusiastically, Lillet knew she'd won that battle again.

The Royal House of Magic was located in a wing of the palace; the crown liked to have its magicians where they could be reached quickly in time of urgent need (and where magic was concerned, the need inevitably was urgent). Lillet and Amoretta shared a room that was virtually a suite, and might as well have been since the magician's wing had its own bathhouse without having to share the facility with the rest of the castle. It was more than just a place to sleep; after several years it really had come to feel like home. The fear that Lillet felt when she put her key to the lock and felt the door swing open without being unlocked, then, was personal and intimate.

"Gaff? Are you there?" she called, thinking of the elf who was part servant and part friend, but knew at once it wasn't him, since there was no light in the room.

"Grimalkin?" Amoretta said. That was her familiar, a large black cat. A moment later, she added, "Lillet, I don't sense him anywhere."

"Oh, no; that's bad."

Lillet sent out her own magical awareness, seeking the Runes and wards she'd set in the room and activating them. They shone with light, illuminating the room, but there were nowhere near as many as there had been when they'd left; several had been broken or dispelled. As soon as she could see, Lillet's gaze went to the most precious thing she had.

"Amoretta, your flask--it's gone!"

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_NOTES:_

_Name origings:_

_Baron de Sangri's name comes from Sangria_

_Baron Thomas Collins comes from the cocktail, Tom Collins_

_Maria Bacardi's name is, of course, from Bacardi_

_Lady Anheuser's name comes from the Anheuser-Busch brewery...I figured with all this liquor and wine running around, somebody had to stick up for plain ol' beer:)_

_Ouzowen, the manager, takes his name from the Greek liquor, ouzo_


	3. Chapter 2

The fear that clawed at Lillet's belly at the thought of Amoretta's missing flask was matched only by her fury at the ones who had done this. This was not an accident, not a case of a thief after valuable loot accidentally taking something much more precious. They had courteously left a note in the stand where the flask had been.

_Lillet Blan:_

_Your lover's life belongs to us, now. Do be a good girl and don't try to scry out the flask's location; we have it under ward and you would not wish there to be...accidents. Expect word from us soon as to how you may repay our tender care of this most valuable property._

Tender care, indeed. A homunculus's life was an artificial creation of magic, and as a created being its body did not sustain itself on its own the way an ordinary being's did. Its flask contained its life essence; without this additional source its body would cease to be. Most homunculi could not even fully leave their flasks, but the angel's spirit within Amoretta made her superior to them in that regard--the seed of a true life created by God rather than mortal magic lent her an independence others lacked. But her life still depended on her flask. If it was shattered, her homunculus body would cease to exist and the angel within be released.

This wasn't just theory, either. Lillet knew what would happen, because she'd seen it. While she'd fallen through the loops of time, she'd watched Amoretta sacrifice herself to save Lillet's life, not once but twice. Lillet had changed that fate, but not forgotten it. Sometimes she relived it in dreams, on nights when she and Amoretta had fought over one of the silly things that couples do.

_I want to do something to repay you...for all that you are to me_, Amoretta had said. How silly was that, to Lillet's mind? Amoretta had freely given her life for love of Lillet multiple times over. How could anyone repay that? It was only bearable at all because love demands no debts, only gave without taking.

She crushed the note in her fist and flung it away.

"Lillet, what are we going to do?" Amoretta asked nervously. Lillet pulled her close, clinging to her as if to reassure herself that the other girl was still there.

"Whatever we have to," she said, holding Amoretta tightly to her. "I will never let you die."

"I'm scared, Lillet."

"So am I," she admitted, stroking Amoretta's hair. "We have to stay strong, though. It's the only way to get your flask back."

"I'll try."

Of course she would, Lillet knew, and she's succeed, too. Though she was gentle and at times almost shy, Amoretta had a fierce willpower that wouldn't let her hesitate or succumb to panic. It was Lillet who had to stay strong, to keep her spirits up. She had to find it within herself to be the magician who'd defeated Archmage Calvaros, who'd outwitted the devil Grimlet.

Only, there was a difference between that time and this one. Then she'd been caught up in the loops of time by the Philosopher's Stone. She'd had the luxury of making mistakes, seeing their consequences, then trying different things until she got it right. This time, there's be no such fallback, no second chances.

It reminded her of how, a few months past, a thief had slipped into her room and Lillet had caught him with Amoretta's flask in hand. Lillet had been almost paralyzed by fear, acting only at the last second and only capturing the thief by luck.

"Wait a minute..." she mused aloud.

"Lillet?"

She let Amoretta go, thought beginning to take over from the momentary weakness of her fears.

"That thief, the one who tried to steal you..."

"Runcifer Beammest?" Amoretta never forgot a name.

"Yes, him. I wonder, is it really a coincidence that we've had two break-ins so close together? The methods were very different; whomever came in this time had to use force to dispel or break some of the wards while the thief was able to sneak past, but the result was the same both times. And it's not like everybody in the world would know what you are, Amoretta, or what that means."

"No; that's a good point."

Lillet pursed her lips.

"We need information. I won't risk breaking their instructions and trying to find the flask by scrying, but there are other things we can try."

She took out her wand and began to sketch out a ward in the air, fueling the design with the mana she held within herself. Bright blue lines followed the sweep of her wand-tip, until the ward was set with a bell-like chime that rang in her mind.

"There! Now no one can scry on us, either, and I can be sure there are no enemy familiars lingering behind. Now, what we need is an eyewitness to what really happened here tonight."

"An eyewitness? But there's no one--oh! You mean Grimalkin!"

"Right. Do you know where he's hiding?"

Amoretta closed her eyes, extending her will to try to locate her familiar, but when her eyes opened there was worry and fear in them.

"Lillet, I can't sense him anywhere. I think he's gone. Whomever stole my flask must have killed him!"

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry, Amo--wait a minute!"

"What is it?"

"Professor Gammel once told me that familiars that are too hurt to fight return to their own world, be it Faerie, Hell, or Hades. Grimalkin wasn't a cat, but a spirit in a cat's form. You should be able to summon him back."

"I think you'll have to help me with that, Lillet. It was Dr. Chartreuse who called him for me in the first place."

"Yeah, I suppose an angel using sorcery would be kind of strange."

There was another point to be considered, too. Summoning grimalkins was mid-level sorcery all by itself, but calling up a _particular_ grimalkin was another matter altogether.

Lillet opened the grimoire of the Chaos Nest and began to carefully check what she needed to do within the red-bound book. The basic summoning Rune was almost second nature to her by this point, but she had to make certain changes in the pattern, each one sketched in precisely and charged with mana. The ordinary Rune was like a net dipped into a pond, set to scoop up whatever it could catch, but to recall Amoretta's familiar specifically was much more precise and tiring work.

"There!" she sighed fifteen minutes later when the Rune was finally drawn.

"That looked very hard for just one grimalkin."

"Well, I could summon up _a_ grimalkin in a matter of minutes, but one particular one is a lot harder." Lillet mopped her forehead on the back of her sleeve, then realized she still hadn't changed out of her party dress. "Now, for the actual summoning."

A minute later, a scarlet spark appeared above the center of the Rune, the swelled and took a tangible form, becoming a large, green-eyed black cat.

"Summoned again, and so soon? 'Tis lucky I am," it said in an oddly accented, sibilant voice, and then its eyes widened. "Miss Blan? 'Tis you? This can'st be coincidence."

"It isn't. We need to know what happened here tonight, and besides, Amoretta misses you."

"And I her." He padded across to the homunculus and hopped up into her arms, then looked down at the Rune he'd been summoned from and back up at Lillet.

"'Tis too easy to see you with my mistress and forget what you are, but I do not think I shall again."

"We don't have time for compliments, Grimalkin. Someone stole Amoretta's flask."

"Indeed, 'twas a small army of familiars. Whomsoever sent them, 'twas skilled in necromancy, for 'twas Charon that pierced the wards and sent forth the familiars. I struck down the first of the creatures that entered, and your wards accounted for more, but I was swarmed by imps and demons. It was a close thing; the Rune you set to summon fairies in case of intrusion nearly was enough to drive the demons and imps off."

_What do I have to do, ward Amoretta's flask as heavily as the Archmage warded the Philosopher's Stone?_ Lillet thought incredulously. But then again, Calvaros couldn't have loved the Stone anywhere near as much as Lillet loved Amoretta.

The one thing she did know was that whomever their enemy was, he or she was a skilled magician. Summoning imps was basic sorcery, but empowering them to attack, and calling on demons besides, was the mark of a skilled sorcerer. Moreover, as Grimalkin had said, the ability to call upon the ferryman of Hades, Charon, was highly advanced necromancy, and to combine those abilities was another matter altogether. Indeed, that was the most significant part of Lillet's own talents, her mastery in all four fields of magic rather than just one. Her enemy was no common hedge-wizard.

One of the Archmage's followers, perhaps? A number of his minions had survived his death and schemed towards his resurrection, which Lillet had thwarted. Revenge was a potent motive, and the kind of magician who'd serve Calvaros would certainly be the kind to indulge that passion.

"Lillet?" Amoretta asked, softly stroking Grimalkin's back. "Are you all right? You just fell silent for a long time."

"I'm sorry; I was thinking." She quickly shared her ideas with Amoretta, not wanting to leave her in the dark. "If it's not just to see us suffer, I don't understand what the motive could be."

"The note said they'd tell you how you could pay them back for keeping my flask safe."

"Yes, but what could they want from me? They already have a very skilled magician, capable of master-class necromancy and mid-level sorcery at the least. What could I do for them?"

Amoretta smiled for the first time since they'd found her flask gone.

"You really don't know how special you are, do you?"

"I may be a good magician, but I'm not _that_ much better than what was used to break in here."

Amoretta shook her head.

"Your modesty is sweet. Even if it were true, though, it's not what people necessarily believe. Think of Lord Collins tonight. You do have a reputation at Court. Or, it might be something that requires more than just one magician alone."

"That's a good point," Lillet considered. After all, it had taken Calvaros, Lujei Piche, and Gammel Dore working together to create the Philosopher's Stone, and they were the three greatest magicians of their generation. She rubbed her chin, a habit of hers while pondering matters. "In any case, they'll let us know soon enough what they want. What we need to do is get ahead of them."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Well, first we need to find Gaff so he can have this place cleaned up so I can finish resetting the wards. Could you help with that, Amoretta? I've burned through a lot of mana so far and I don't want to completely exhaust myself before--oh, no!"

"What is it?" Amoretta said, obviously worried by Lillet's sudden fright.

"Amoretta, how long can you go without restoring yourself in your flask?" she asked urgently. It wasn't just that the homunculus's life was dependent on her flask; she routinely had to rejuvenate her body in it.

Amoretta sighed, her hand pressed to her chest in a relieved gesture.

"Is _that_ all? You scared me, Lillet! If I don't restore my body once a week or so I'll start getting weak and listless, but it won't do more than make me an invalid even if it goes on for months on end. I am a homunculus, not a chimera, after all. My body is an artificial creation, but so long as my flask is unbroken I am not an incomplete being."

Lillet let out a sigh of relief.

"That's good. I didn't know about the long-term effects."

"You only had to ask. And I will be glad to help with the wards. May I ask why you wanted to conserve mana?"

"Tomorrow morning, I'm going to pay a call on the last man to try to take your flask. I can't help but think the attempts have some connection, and I want to make sure I can persuade him to talk."


	4. Chapter 3

Lillet looked up at the forbidding wall of Bastion Dunjon-Keep with a shiver. It was a grim and depressing place, spawned both from its appearance and from Lillet's knowledge of its purpose. Unquiet spirits seemed to linger in the black stone, generations of those who had died within the prison's walls during its two hundred and fifty years of existence. Even the knowledge that the vast majority of those within had chosen this fate by their own acts, as the kingdom was fundamentally sound and Her Majesty's rule a just one, was not enough to soothe the chill she felt.

Her nervousness, however, did not stop her from walking directly to the main gate.

"Who goes there?" a man challenged from the guardhouse window.

"Royal Magician Lillet Blan, to see the warden." She held up her seal of office to prove her identity.

"She with you?" asked the guard.

He meant Amoretta, of course. Lillet's lover had insisted on coming with her, not wanting to be left alone. Amoretta always wanted to be together whenever they could, and under the current circumstances Lillet could hardly blame her. When any moment could be their last one together, neither wanted to waste any time by being apart.

_Stop that!_ she told herself harshly. _You're not going to let that happen!_

"Yes, she is."

The heavy outer portcullis of the gatehouse raised and they stepped inside. It came down again, settling into place with an ominous thud before the inner gate opened in turn. At no time was an open, direct channel in place between the inside of the prison and the world outside.

"I don't like this place," Amoretta said. "It's filled with an aura of despair. There is no hope or redemption here, just evil growing fat on itself." She clutched at her shoulders as if hugging herself and shuddered. Lillet lay a hand over hers.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes, so long as you're with me."

"All right, then, just stay close." Lillet supposed it was the angel's spirit inside Amoretta that made her so sensitive to the environment. Then again, an ordinary homunculus possessed remarkable psychic perceptions, capable of bridging the physical and astral worlds. Maybe Amoretta's creator had given her some of that ability as well.

Another guard was waiting to escort them within the inner portcullis. He rechecked Lillet's seal of office, then led her to the heavy iron main doors of the Pit. He gave a password to the door guard, who admitted them, then led the way to the warden's office. It was the highest room in the prison, as if the warden perched atop it like a bird, or as if the room was the cork in a giant bottle.

Warden Bacard Ancola himself was a thin, weedy gentleman of no more than forty-five but whose fussy manner made him seem ten or even fifteen years older than his years. His thinning, mouse-colored hair swept dramatically back from a widow's peak that was only emphasized by his encroaching baldness. His face was cadaverous, with sunken cheekbones and thin, almost papery skin.

"Royal Magician Blan," he greeted her after the guard's introduction. "I've heard good things about you."

"Thank you, Warden."

"Can't say the same back, can you? Well, no surprise. It's a thankless job, this is. Prisons are like the prisoners themselves; society doesn't want to know they exist. Some overseas penal colony would suit them better than having Bastion in the capital. But it's vital, you know. Let them run free, and we'd have anarchy, murder, and mayhem in the streets. And if not freedom and not prison, then what? The alternative is too horrid to contemplate; if we sank that low, law and justice would be a joke, nothing more."

"We can agree on that, at least."

"There, you see my point. Now, what can I do for you? Not that you and your friend aren't charming but there is much to do, much to do. Hard work, keeping order in a place this size, full up of the vicious and desperate. These men were little better than animals when they came, and imprisonment reduces them even further. Vigilance, stern vigilance, is the only antidote."

Lillet could well imagine how men trapped, however justly, in the black depths of this dungeon could turn on one another, particularly in the common population where a blanket, a scrap of food, or a safe night's sleep were all commodities to be fought over. The temptation to corruption among the staff, too, must have been terrible. _Stern vigilance, indeed._

"I'd like to speak to a prisoner, if that's possible."

"Well, now, it may or may not be. What does it concern?"

"It's an official inquiry," she lied. _Well, it's not_ entirely _a lie, since it does concern my official position and a crime on palace grounds._ "There's a man who was convicted of trying to steal from me. I need to ask him some questions about that theft."

Warden Ancola nodded.

"I'm certain that would be possible. Your status as a Royal Magician carries that authority."

"Um...thanks. His name is Runcifer Beammest."

"Very well; I'll have him brought to...Beammest, did you say?" The warden suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Yes. Is something wrong?"

"That name..."

He got up from his desk, went to a file cabinet, and opened the top drawer. From the neatly arrayed sheaves of paper his fingers deftly located a single sheet, which his eyes skimmed down until he apparently found what he sought, for he gave a dissatisfied exhalation, "Hmh!"

"Warden Ancola, what is it?"

"I thought so," he murmured, almost to himself, then turned back to Lillet. "The name sounded familiar, you see, but not because I was aware of his history. I regret very much that you will not be able to speak with Prisoner Beammest, Miss Blan."

"Why not?"

"It seems that Prisoner Beammest committed suicide six days ago."

"Suicide!"

"He stabbed himself with a hand-made knife of the type regrettable made in the general prison population. Obviously we strive to confiscate such things as often as we can find them, but there is only so much that can be done. This thief either came to deeply regret his actions, or more likely simply did not believe he could endure his term of imprisonment and chose to end his life. His body went unclaimed so he was buried in potter's field."

_I doubt it_, Lillet thought, recalling the mocking face of the thief from the break-in. _He's not the kind to kill himself--more likely he'd be plotting an escape. It can't be coincidence that he's dead; whomever stole Amoretta's flask probably got information from him, then killed him so he couldn't tell anybody else about it._

It was the only thing that made sense. Lillet and Amoretta didn't go around advertising that Amoretta was a homunculus, but the one who had her flask clearly knew it. Beammest might not have understood what he'd seen, but any magician who'd heard his story would know its significance if they'd had even an apprentice's knowledge of alchemy.

That whomever it was had gotten into the Pit to interrogate Beammest was further evidence of their competence. That they'd killed the thief to cover their tracks told Lillet that they were ruthless and what steps they were willing to take.

She hadn't believed that they were bluffing before, but now she was absolutely convinced they weren't. Whatever these people wanted of her, if she didn't deliver they would shatter Amoretta's flask without a qualm.

"Was there anything else I could do for you, Miss Blan?" Ancola asked.

"Um...no, no, there's nothing else."

"Well, then, I am sorry we could not be of more service to you. Tragic, I know, but they will do it." He clucked his tongue and repeated, "They will do it." Lillet was uncertain whether he meant prisoners dying in general or suicide specifically. She thought of suggesting that it likely _wasn't_ a suicide, but didn't see how that would be of any help to her.

They took their leave of the warden, who summoned another guard to show them out. It wasn't the same man, but it might as well have been: powerful, burly, and cruel-faced. The prison staff reminded Lillet somewhat of how familiars were usually summoned, by type and function rather than as individuals. More often than not one fairy or unicorn was the same as any other from the magician's perspective.

"I'm so glad to be out of there," Amoretta said once the outer gate had closed behind them. She'd been silent for nearly the whole visit, either content to let Lillet take the lead or too uncomfortable to speak up.

"Me, too," Lillet agreed.

Amoretta frowned.

"You don't _seem_ relieved."

Of course, she was right, being sensitive to Lillet's mood more than anything else. Bastion was oppressive, but after all it wasn't Lillet who had to be scared of it. Rather, her prison was the one that went with her everywhere, the fear that at any moment Amoretta would be snatched away.

"I'm just nervous," she said. "I'm scared of what might happen to you, and what we just found out makes it worse." She took Amoretta's hand; feeling her there, the evidence of her tangible presence, was reassuring somehow.

"Good thinking," a voice croaked. Lillet swiveled around; it had come from above and to the right. A dead tree stood there, its limbs long and bare like skeletal fingers, and there was a crow perched on one branch--only it wasn't a crow.

"Who sent you?" she addressed the familiar. Most likely it was a minor devil given an animal's shape, not unlike Amoretta's cat. That it wasn't a natural animal she recognized at once, and should have sensed before it spoke had she not been so emotionally occupied.

The crow cawed, then spoke again.

"You don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you? All you need to know is that my master holds your pretty homunculus' life by a thread."

"So you're delivering the message we were told to expect?"

"That's right. My master thought you might be here today." It gestured at the bulk of the prison with two quick flicks of its head. "That's good. It means you're as smart as my master thinks, to have made the connection right away. You'll need to be smart in order to get us what we want from you." It fluffed its wings, emphasizing the slightly unkempt look of its feathers, like it had been out in the rain even though there hadn't been any for days. "It also tells you we're serious about what we say."

"I didn't doubt it."

"Oh, yes you did. You hoped it right enough. People always hope. You said to yourself, 'maybe they're only bluffing,' or 'they might not have the resolve to kill.' Now you _know_ there's no bluff."

"What are you, some leftover minion of the Archmage?"

"Now that'd be telling. I already said that I wouldn't answer that question." It hopped along the branch. "I suggest that you pay more attention to the instructions I'm about to give you, or you'll end up in quite the pickle. Ready, Lillet Blan?"

Lillet sighed.

"I'm ready."

"Much better. Now, our late friend whom you came to visit today had a trinket, when he was alive and well. A little toy that let him walk right past the nastiest wards and trap-spells without setting them off."

"The Amulet of the Hidden Eye."

"The very same. It was taken from him when the guards arrested him. My master has taken a fancy to this trinket. You will procure it for us and deliver it to me tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow!" Lillet yelped.

"Indeed. We so dislike ditherers, so you can just hop right to it."

"But how are we--" she started incredulously, but the crow cut her off.

"Maybe you don't quite understand, Lillet Blan. You're going to use your ingenuity to _find_ a way, or your darling Amoretta won't be there to keep you warm at night."

Lillet flinched, a bad mistake in negotiating with someone like the crow familiar, but there was nothing for it.

"How do we deliver the amulet when we have it?"

"Well, finally, a sensible question." It tucked its head and plucked at its feathers in a parody of grooming, but only succeeded in making the condition worse. After a few seconds it stopped and turned back to Lillet. "Bring it to the statue of Athena in Three Oaks Park. I'll meet you there at three tomorrow. And don't try anything stupid, because then nobody gets what they want. Well, except me; I think it'd be fun to watch you cry." It gave a raucous series of caws like laughter, then leapt into the air.

"That bird's even nastier than Margarita's toad," Lillet muttered, thinking of one of the Archmage's minions.

"Are you going to do what it says?"

"I don't think that I have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Amoretta pointed out. "They just don't want you to think there is."

"All right, but if the other option is letting you die then there _isn't_ a choice. Especially not over some magical toy that I could probably make one of if they gave me a couple of weeks."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Oh, sure. We have it--I mean, the Royal House of Magic does. The court gave it to the magicians to study how it was put together. Amulets like that could be valuable for our scouts and spies if they can be mass-produced. Basically, we're going to do the same thing Beammest used it for--to steal from the palace magicians."

"Just be careful, Lillet. He got caught."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_NOTES: Just one new name this time; Bacard Ancola is the second use of Bacardi in this story, which is odd since neither I nor anyone I know drinks the stuff, with or without cola!_


	5. Chapter 4

"Wait a minute," Gaff said, surprised enough that he paused in his sweeping. "Are you saying that they went to all that trouble of breaking in here and blackmailing you just so they could have you steal something from pretty much the same place as their own theft was from?" He shook his head. "That doesn't even make sense for an evil wizard and everybody knows they're crazy."

Gaff was a young elf who'd come with Lillet from the Magic Academy and was now a kind of general housekeeper and caretaker. Lillet sometimes wondered if it was a step up in the elven hierarchy to be the personal servant of a magician rather than being one of many on the staff at the Silver Star Tower, even though Professor Gammel was much more famous than Lillet--not unlike whether a baron's valet outranked a prince's footman. Whatever the case, she was glad to have him; he was good at his job and a loyal friend besides.

Lillet rolled over on her back and studied the beams of the ceiling. She and Amoretta had come back to their room to plan the details of what to do next. Taking Gaff into their confidence was only natural. Now she was sprawled out on the bed while Amoretta sat on the edge, her cat in her lap, while Gaff kept up with the housework (since as he put it, dust waits for no elf).

"I don't think that is their plan," Lillet decided.

"I'm glad you agree...um, why is it that you do?"

"It's just what you said, Gaff. If they just wanted the Amulet of the Hidden Eye, they'd just steal _it_. I think this is a test."

"A test of what?" Amoretta asked.

"Me. Will I go along with what they want, or try something? They think they control me, but what do murdering, blackmailing thieves know about what someone really will or won't do out of love? If you've invented a new Rune, you practice it first before you trust your life to it in battle. And maybe it's also just to test if I can do the job. A good reputation doesn't always mean a lot."

"So if you get this amulet, they won't return Amoretta's flask even then?"

"No, it's just the start of what they want. I'm sure of it. And...I've been thinking it over..."

"Thinking over what?"

She had to force herself to say it aloud. "I don't think they have any intention of giving Amoretta's flask back, even if I do everything they want."

"What? Wait a minute, now!" Gaff exclaimed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Lillet is right, Gaff," Amoretta said.

Lillet rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow so she could look Amoretta in the eye.

"Hold on. You knew that already?"

"It's the only thing that makes logical sense," she said. "If they return my flask, they have no hold over you, and they'd have to expect you'd want revenge. Even if you didn't, people like that would always think and expect the worst of others."

"In this case, they'd be right," Lillet said. "But why didn't you tell me that you'd figured it out, Amoretta? I only realized it myself after we learned that thief was dead."

"I knew you'd figure it out on your own soon enough, and until then I hoped you could have some time to be less worried."

"That's sweet, Amoretta, it really is, but you don't need to protect me like that."

"What else can I do, though? You've been put in this position because of me, because of how you feel about me. You've been so scared and worried for me, and now those villains are going to ask you to steal, and who knows what else. If I can do anything at all to lighten that burden for you, I have to do it."

"Oh, Amoretta." She sat up and put her arms around the other girl's shoulders, holding her close. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

"I love you too, Lillet." Amoretta leaned towards her, then hesitated, as if still unsure of herself. Lillet settled that problem quickly, capturing Amoretta's mouth with her own in a lingering, loving kiss.

"From now on, though," she said brightly when their lips parted, "if you think of something, tell me right away. I don't want to do something stupid because I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."

"I will."

"Good! Now, while I'd rather chase Gaff out and hold you for the rest of the day"--this sally brought the faintest hint of a blush to Amoretta's cheeks--"I have a theft to plan."

"You're definitely going through with it, then?" Gaff prompted, glad to get the topic away from love, kissing, and similar mushy matters.

Lillet nodded.

"I have to. It's the only way to keep Amoretta safe--and besides that, I have an idea about what to do after that. I think we might be able to turn this 'trial run' to our advantage, but I need to do what they want to make the idea work."

"Do you know where the Amulet is?" Amoretta asked.

"Uh huh. It'll be in the Artifact Room. It's not important or valuable enough to be in one of the sealed vaults, and besides both Master Tanqueray and Mistress Absinthe want it on hand to see if they can break down and study the spells in it." The two of them were specialists in the area of barriers and wards, thus their interest in the potent countercharm. "If I wanted, I could just go in and sign it out openly, only I'd have to answer too many questions about why I wanted it and after a day or two the Keeper would ask for it back. Then I'd be in the soup."

"The Artifact Room is basically a storage chamber," Gaff said. "They don't keep a guard on duty."

"At least not human guards, but there are wards and Runes in place, and maybe even familiars standing watch."

"Too bad you don't _have_ the Amulet of the Hidden Eye. Then you could steal it without trouble!"

"Yeah, but I'll have to do it the hard way. But I've done this sort of thing before, when we were at the Magic Academy."

"That's true," Amoretta noted. "You had to overcome Ms. Opalneria's warding Runes to get to the Archmage's soul container, and the Archmage's own defenses to enter the chamber of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Right. The only real difference this time is that there are sure to be alarm spells. Amoretta, I'm going to need your help."

"Mine?"

"Uh-huh. I don't want to fight my way through the defenses while trying to counter the alarms and wards at the same time. I need you to raise a barrier around the room to keep the alarm spells from getting through. Can you do that?"

"I _am_ a homunculus. I might not have the mental powers of the normal kind, but it's still my best area of magic."

"Great!" Lillet clapped her hands. "We ought to be able to pull this off. We'll do it tonight, around two in the morning when we're not likely to run into anyone in the halls or accidentally using the room." She thought for a second, then said to the cat, "You come along too, Grimalkin. If we meet up with anyone, you can put them to sleep before they see us. Master Tanqueray sometimes suffers from insomnia, so he might be up and about."

"He'd probably thank you for a good night's sleep," joked Gaff.

"'Tisn't likely," the cat noted. "Magical sleep 'tis often plagued by nightmares."

"You are way too serious."

"'Tis serious business, theft and blackmail. And for that which is not serious, I prefer to sleep." He snuggled back into Amoretta's arms, a position which Lillet found rather enviable.

The hours of waiting were uncomfortable ones; it was all but impossible to relax with the knowledge of the threat hanging over their heads. Lillet was grateful when the time came to start the preparations, since it gave her something to do.

They made their ways through the halls of the Royal House of Magic without encountering anyone on the way to the Artifact Room. The palace seemed as still and quiet as a grave, a thought which made Lillet shudder. She'd been confident lying on her bed, but the kind of protections her fellow Royal Magicians had on the storage chamber were not a game. The familiars that could be summoned could no doubt be lethal to an unlucky thief.

_I'll just have to make my own luck, then._

"All right, Amoretta."

The homunculus nodded, then unstrapped her sword from her side. She did not draw it, though, but merely held it out before her, so that the dragonscale scabbard and red-enameled hilt and quillions made a scarlet cross. Amoretta bowed her head almost reverentially.

"_By word and sign, bless this land in the sweetness of silence._"

The barrier took shape almost at once; Lillet could sense it as it expanded before them, sealing the area into an enclosed space which magical communications could not enter or leave.

"That's wonderful! How long can you cold it?"

"I think for half an hour, and perhaps a few minutes more. Will that be enough?"

"If it isn't, I need to give back my diploma. Kiss for luck?"

Obediently, Amoretta leaned forward; Lillet cupped her face gently in one hand and kissed her gently and lovingly.

"Lillet, how does that increase your luck for the battle?"

Lillet grinned saucily.

"It doesn't. The lucky part is that I got one of your kisses!"

With that sally, she turned and opened the door to the Artifact Room. As a Royal Magician, she had a perfect right to be there, at two in the morning or any other time, and the defenses wouldn't stop her. She didn't want to do things that way, because it would immediately narrow the circle of suspects--and if there were any active familiars, they could identify her. By using force, she'd cover her tracks more effectively. Since she wouldn't trigger anything by simply entering, though, she took the time to coolly survey the defenses she'd be facing.

The glass-fronted storage cabinets were trapped with alarm spells, Lillet sensed, but Amoretta had taken care of those. Each had a second ward, though, one that would blast with lightning any familiar that tried to open one. _Mistress Absinthe's work, I'd bet._ Stone statues between the cabinets, two on each side wall and two more on the far end, weren't statues at all but gargoyles, creations of alchemy that while unable to move could breathe fire. There had to be more, though, and a second look revealed a summoning Rune on the _ceiling_, passive now but ready to spring to life if the wards were tripped. It was a Hades Gate, a rune of necromancy. _Probably one of Artos Benedictine's_, she judged.

Understanding what she'd likely face, Lillet set to work drawing her own Runes, sketching out the patterns on the corridor floor with her wand and watching them spring to life. Without Runes, the summoning and binding of familiars had taken hours, with complex chants and a wide variety of potions, reagents, and exotic paraphernalia, but Rune magic had streamlined the process so that a skilled wizard with access to enough mana could create an army in minutes. Lillet had chosen Glamour for this, the first of the fields of magic she'd learned. From her Fairy Ring she called on six fairies, insect-winged girls Gaff's size who wielded stinging bows in battle. From her Wicca Rune there was a unicorn, a sleek white steed the size of a pony with a sharp, spiraling horn. These were not particularly advanced summonings, though Lillet's Runes were powerful ones that enhanced the strength of the creatures they summoned in a way that a common hedge-magician's wouldn't. Her third rune, though, was one that marked a master in Glamour. Not even all her fellow Royal Magicians had studied the grimoire of Titania and could summon forth the shining essence of the Morning Star.

It was this spirit that Lillet sent in first, the ghostly form of a beautiful maiden cradling a flame of starlight. Its intrusion triggered the ward spells and woke the gargoyles. Their stony jaws spat out fire, but the blaze burned out harmlessly in the center of the room. Like many creations of alchemy, the gargoyles were unable to harm the Morning Star, which was a purely astral spirit without a physical body. That restriction did not, however, apply in reverse, for it hurled the burning starchild in her hands at the stony protectors, blasting them one by one to rubble.

At the death of the second gargoyle, the Rune on the ceiling came to life. Living flames spat from it: ghosts called from Purgatory to serve one purpose, to fling themselves into astral foes and burn them with the fires of the ghosts' necromantic existence.

Lillet had expected them, though, and that was what the fairies were for. They swept up, interposing their physical bodies between the ghosts and the star-spirit. The ghostly flame would have been devastating to another astral creature but was more annoying than injurious for the fairies. Once the ghosts had expended themselves, the fairies then used their own natural magic to switch to an astral body themselves, so the gargoyles couldn't hurt them, then joined the star-spirit in destroying first the gargoyles, then the Rune.

Which tripped the trap.

Someone had done something clever with the Hades Gate; it had been warded so that when the magic sustaining it was broken, a second spell was tripped, unleashing a previously summoned and sealed familiar into the room. This one was a Charon, not precisely a spirit but a magical reflection of the ferryman of Hades. Master necromancers summoned them to ferry other familiars across battlefields at great speed, and this one's ferry was carrying a small army, Lillet realized.

It wasn't a bad trap. Just as an intruder thought she'd gotten past the defenses, she was ambushed by a force as strong as what she'd initially fought through. Lillet, however, had the antidote. It hadn't been why she'd summoned it, but a spark flew from her unicorn's horn and paralyzed the Charon's spirit-form. The fairies and the Morning Star made short work of the helpless ferryman before it could return its passengers into the material world, saving Lillet the trouble of dealing with them at all.

"All right, let's finish up."

The unicorn bowed and stomped its hoof twice, and its body was surrounded by a golden aura. Lillet walked through the room, peering into the cabinets until she found the one she wanted.

"Here," she said, pointing. The glowing unicorn nodded obediently, trotted over, and snapped the lock off with its horn. Lightning exploded from the warded hasp, but the electrical cascade clawed futilely at the unicorn's barrier, barely able to get through and certainly unable to cause serious injury.

"You know, any one of us could have opened that," chirped a fairy.

"Yes, but you'd have gotten hurt, or worse," Lillet said. "The unicorn didn't."

"We know. That's why we like working for you. Lots of magicians don't care."

Lillet opened the cabinet and plucked the Amulet of the Hidden Eye from its shelf. It was such a simple-looking thing, a brass disk on a red leather cord. Just maybe, though, it could be the key to getting back Amoretta's flask.

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_NOTES:_

_For the names of the three Royal Magicians mentioned, Benedictine is a liqueur originally made by the monastic order of the same name, Tanqueray is a brand of gin, and Absinthe is a mildly hallucinogenic drink especially popular in turn-of-the-century France (undoubtedly Mistress Absinthe is best with Glamour magic, since absinthe was called the "Green Fairy"...)._


	6. Chapter 5

It was funny, Lillet thought as she looked up at the statue of Athena, that there was nearly as much art depicting classical mythology, which no one believed in, as there was concerning actual religion. What was it about these gods that did not exist that so attracted people?

Idly, she wondered if it would be possible to summon Athena as a familiar. After all, Charon came from the same myth-cycle. Then again, the Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death, was a more universal concept. The shadows of that entity summoned by necromancy might use the _form_ of Charon, but that was just the shape given those shadows by the magician upon summoning.

The fact that she was letting her mind wander over such topics had everything to do with it being quarter past three and there being no sign of the crow. The Royal House of Magic had been buzzing all morning over the intrusion--luckily, it wasn't Lillet's job to help with the investigation, or else things could have gotten really confusing--and here Lillet was standing around with the stolen goods in her pocket.

Belatedly, she wondered if maybe _that_ was the point: to have her disgraced and arrested, Could she have a _personal_ enemy who wanted that? She didn't think any of the other magicians had that kind of feeling towards her, though she knew there was some envy towards her skills. The idea of the Archmage's former followers again occurred to her; they'd certainly be motivated towards revenge.

Well, if a squad of palace guards appeared, she'd know the theft was just a set-up. She wouldn't be able to defend herself, either--not with Amoretta's life on the line.

A rustle of wings changed things, and the black-feathered bird descended out of the sky to perch atop Athena's owl. It looked as tousled and unkempt as it had the day before, and leered at her with obsidian eyes.

"You kept me waiting."

"And what if I did? You serve at my master's pleasure, Lillet Blan. Ten minutes, an hour, a day, you will wait as long as I happen to want to keep you. Did you get it?"

"Of course I did. Doesn't your master know that?"

"When you resorted to such a clumsy and inelegant method as the use of brute force? Who knows if you did the job right when that's the best you can do?"

Lillet smirked.

"Your master ought to teach you better, crow. Sometimes brute force is the subtlest approach, particularly if you don't want your adversary to know that you're capable of finesse."

The crow flapped its wings, scattering a couple of black plumes, and cawed raucously.

"Don't think that just because you've done one job that you can start feeling smug. You'll dance to our tune, Lillet Blan, until you've done what we want, or else that laboratory-made whore of yours will--"

Lillet snapped her fingers and a bolt of light shot from the shrubbery. It burst like a firework just above the crow, creating a field of sparkling, crackling energy. The familiar twisted and writhed under the assault before collapsing into a shower of black ash.

The shrubbery rustled, and a strange creature walked out. It had an oddly rolling gait, because it looked as if it had been stuffed head-first into an alchemical flask from which only its hands and feet protruded. This was not actually the case, though, for its orange-furred body and catlike head had actually grown _inside_ the flask and it had only poked its limbs out so it could move around. The creature was a homunculus, not entirely different from Amoretta but lacking in one significant point: without the angel's spirit within her it was an incomplete form of life, unable to leave its life-sustaining flask. Though odd-looking, they were faithful servants to alchemists, and as the crow had found out could be made quite powerful by the design of a skilled master.

"Did I do it right, Creator?" the creature asked in a high, chirpy voice.

"Exactly right." Lillet had arrived early for the scheduled meeting and secreted the little creature in case of treachery that demanded an instant response. She folded her arms across her chest and looked around the clearing. "Well?" she called. "Are we going to talk this over, or what?"

"You are lucky that your lover's flask was not shattered for your insolence."

This time it was a rat, small and black. There was a hint of scarlet in its dark eyes, and its tousled fur announced its kinship to the crow. The rat perched on a stone bench off to Lillet's right, glaring warily at her.

"From what he's done so far, I didn't think that your master was stupid," Lillet said.

"And you were correct, which is why we are talking now. Don't try any more surprises, though. I'm nothing like that feathered pawn."

"I can see that." She could, too; as a magician she could tell that this was a much different order of devil than the crow, hardier and with more tricks up its metaphorical sleeves.

"Why did you destroy the messenger?"

Lillet met its gaze without blinking.

"I won't have Amoretta talked about in that way."

The rat wrinkled its nose.

"Even at the risk of her life?"

"Your master wants something from me, or he wouldn't be going to all this trouble. Whatever it is, it's worth theft, kidnapping, extortion, and murder to him. If he wants to get it, then he can deal civilly with me. If he can't find messengers willing to hold their tongue, he can keep summoning new ones."

The rat twitched its nose again.

"That suits me. This is all too theatrical, anyway. From now on, you'll deal with me."

"What shall I call you?"

"Tempell," the rat hissed. "Now let's get to business. Give me the amulet."

Lillet took it out of her pocket and flipped it at the bench. The rat caught the scarlet thong in its front paws, the foreclaws moving about like tiny hands. Lillet watched, sickly fascinated, as it reeled in the medallion and sniffed at it. Who knew, maybe it could sense the amulet's magic like a natural animal could scent food.

"Good, this is it. We already know of your work on the break-in. I'm glad you had the sense to cooperate."

"You have Amoretta's life."

"Why that matters to you is your problem."

Lillet gritted her teeth but said nothing. She'd made her point once already and to take on the rat would not only require a magical battle but put Amoretta at serious risk. Besides which, Tempell's curt manner suggested that it had not meant the comment as an insult but merely an observation, that the devil-rat genuinely believed that to care about another person was a character flaw.

"So what do you want from me next?" she contented herself with asking.

"Direct. That's good." It paused, its eyes going curiously blank, and Lillet realized that it was in silent communication with its summoner. "We'll do this tomorrow, then. Do you know where the Grand Cathedral used to be?"

Lillet thought about it. She didn't know the city all that well, but the name rang a bell from when she and Amoretta had gone sightseeing during their first month living in the capital.

"Is that the ruin on the west side of Alder Square?"

"Yes. There's a crypt underneath it. Meet us there at half past nine. Take care; there are alarm wards on it to keep out the riff-raff."

A sarcastic reply leapt to mind, but Lillet was able to hold her tongue.

"All right, then. I'll be there."

"Good." Tempell hopped off the back of the bench and dashed away into the bushes, vanishing with nary a rustle of leaves.

The homunculus looked up at Lillet and said brightly, "Life certainly is exciting outside the bottle."

-X X X-

Amoretta was waiting eagerly when Lillet returned to the palace.

"Did it work?"

"Perfectly! That crow showed up again and started running its beak about you, so I blasted it to ash. Like we figured, the magician had a second familiar monitoring things, one that was much more powerful than the crow, and we had a relatively straightforward talk." She told Amoretta about Tempell. "They want me to go to the crypt under the ruins of the Grand Cathedral tomorrow night for the next step, so I also think we were right about the first job being a test. Best of all, though, is that the rat took the amulet without doing more than making sure it was the right one. I think we have them, Amoretta."

Her lover smiled happily.

"There! I knew you'd think of something."

"I'm going to go down to the lab and take a look at things right now. Once we've established who has the flask and where, I'm sure we can think of a plan before tomorrow night."

Lillet had come up with the idea as soon as she'd seen the amulet; it was why she'd thought it was the key to finding Amoretta's flask. In a way, the extortionists had given her the idea. Their note had warned her not to try and use scrying magic to find the flask because it was under ward, and the flask was the only thing she could scry. This form of magic required a piece of something to be able to seek out the remainder--hair, nail clippings, or blood from a person, for example, or a few straws from a broom, a corner torn from a sheet of paper, or a homunculus for the flask that contained her life. The flask might have been warded, but the amulet would not be, not yet. A ward had to be stationary, anyway, and an inherently movable object meant to be worn would not be kept in a fixed location.

The brass medallion was out, of course; even shaving a few filings from it might be enough to disrupt the spells in it, which Lillet hadn't been willing to risk. The red thong, though, was different. Lillet had untied it, clipped a short piece from one end, frayed up the stub so the cut wasn't obvious, and retied it. The clipped piece she'd put into a vessel filled with liquid wax through which a wick was threaded, then once it was cooled left to steep in a solution of herb-laced water for a minimum of four hours. Once completed, the scrying candle would allow Lillet to view the amulet, and more importantly its location and the people who had it. Because it was centered on an object, it could push past protections against magical observation that shielded a particular place. Lillet had actually had a couple of long talks with Armand Tanqueray about how to configure a warding Rune that would block both general and specific scrying over a particular area, but they hadn't quite solved the problem yet, for which she was now glad.

She found the ward expert in the lab, looking frazzled. His long beard was a tangle from him pulling at it in frustration and the tip of his star-speckled, conical hat was drooping as if it, too was fatigued. Lillet felt a little guilty, since it was the investigation into her burglary that no doubt had left him in that state. He would have spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what had been done to bypass the guardians and if any clues had been left, and more time dodging questions from people who were really only venting their indignation over the fact it had happened in the first place.

No, she really did feel sorry for Master Tanqueray, so she readily forgave his rude greeting.

"Ah, Miss Blan. Come to pester me for details about last night's offense, no doubt," he snapped upon seeing her.

"Um, no, actually, I just had a scrying candle to pick up."

"Well, that makes you the first person I've met all day who isn't. Pestering me, that is. Thieves breaking into the Royal House of Magic! It's absurd, if you think about it. How could a magician get into the palace without leaving a trace, then suddenly have to resort to brute force to get into the Artifact Room? It doesn't make sense." He tugged at his beard. "Let me tell you, even the Chamberlain is fit to be tied. One of our jobs as Royal Magicians is to keep Her Majesty safe from a magical attack by the kingdom's enemies, and it doesn't exactly inspire confidence when we can't even protect our own possessions!"

"That's not fair. It wasn't even the vaults. The Artifact Room is like...a storage closet. If we were the Guard, it would be like someone stealing the wooden practice swords."

Tanqueray chuckled at the thought.

"More like one wooden practice sword, at that. It's the damnedest thing about it. Never mind how the thief got into the building without leaving traces, or why he or she decided to switch over to the direct approach. Why, then, just take one item from one case? Why not clean out everything of value? At the least, why not take whatever else was in that one case the thief did open? There was a perfectly good wand there, and four bottles of Reynard's Solution."

"Really? Orange or blue?" Lillet asked, succumbing to the urge to talk shop. She hadn't even noticed when she'd been pilfering the amulet.

"Blue--the enhanced version, nonetheless. How would anyone who is magician enough to get by wards Ms. Absinthe and I set not want that?"

"That's a very single-minded thief."

"Quite the strange character, whomever it was."

"Well, I'll just pick up my candle and get out of your way, then, Master Tanqueray."

Tanqueray snorted.

"Master, indeed! You're the last person who should be calling any magician, 'Master,' Lillet. Everyone knows you're the best of us all, even if some dried-up sticks can't bring themselves to admit it."

"Master Tanqueray, that's just not true."

"Oh, isn't it? You're one of only two people here I can hold a decent conversation with on the subject of ward spells and not lose you halfway through the talk, and it's not even your specialty. You tell me that isn't talent to be proud of."

"It's...not talent." she said hesitantly. _Just decades--maybe centuries--spent falling through the loops of time. Anyone would be a great magician with that kind of time to practice._ She only carried the memories of five trips through the five days, but knew there had been countless others in which she'd gone from complete beginner to master.

Tanqueray snorted again.

"I suppose that modesty is more becoming than some people's puffed-up pride. Well, don't let me keep you from getting--oh, blast, did you say that scrying candle was yours?"

"Y-yes. Is something wrong?"

"Just another in the series of irritants and disasters that have been going on in the past day. I hope you have more of the original sample, because the candle is ruined."

"Ruined?" Lillet yelped. "What happened?"

"What happened is some idiot managed to upset a whole rack of caustic alchemy reagents on the table next to yours. It took out the cauldron, the candle, a chunk of the bench, and Johann Pabst's research into elf-shot arrows. Of course, your work and Pabst's were both glamour magic, so I suspect the chemicals had already been partially enchanted before the accident, alchemy being especially effective against glamour and the magic enhancing the damaging effects of the reagents. And whatever idiot did it didn't even have the decency to apologize or even clean up after himself. I suppose to be fair, he might not have known who it was he was supposed to apologize to, but after the day I've had I'm not inclined to be fair!"

Lillet wasn't inclined to be fair, either, but for another reason entirely. It was absurd to think it was a coincidence. Somehow, her enemy had learned what she was up to and very effectively ruined her plan.

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_NOTE: Johann Pabst's name comes from Pabst Blue Ribbon beer_.


	7. Chapter 6

"It's all gone wrong," Lillet moaned into her pillow. She'd gone straight back to her room after learning what had happened in the lab, terrified that she'd find Amoretta already dead and gone. "I've bungled it completely. I've as good as killed you!"

"Lillet..." Amoretta said hesitantly. She wasn't really good at this, reassuring another person. Her honesty cut a little _too_ sharply, her clarity was a little _too_ bright for that. But she could see that Lillet was suffering, and she had to try something when faced with that. She touched her lover's shoulder, hoping to establish closeness by physical contact. "You haven't killed me," she pointed out the obvious. "I'm right here."

"Through no doing of mine!" Lillet said. "The magician who has you knows I didn't follow orders exactly, that I was trying something sneaky. He could have smashed the flask right then and punished us both for trying to deceive him."

_I have her life in my hands,_ Lillet thought to herself, _and I'm playing games with it. How can I do this to someone I love?_ The thought brought on a fresh rush of tears, fueled by memories of Amoretta shining like a golden star as her alchemically-created body dissolved and the angel within came forth, its purifying light burning away any darkness around her. _I can't bear to see that again. I can't!_

"Oh, Lillet...You have to stop this."

"I know. From now on," she wept, "I'll just do what they want, with no tricks. I can't afford to make any more mistakes, not while they're obviously watching me."

"Stop it!" Amoretta said. "That isn't what I meant and you should know it!"

"But if I mess up again--"

"He'll probably kill me anyway, or at least keep hold of my flask indefinitely to try and keep himself from you. We've already talked about that, and I still think you were right."

"Then there's no hope at all."

"You know, Lillet, you're not very good at making mistakes," Amoretta observed, almost dispassionately. "Maybe it's because you don't do it very often, so you don't get a lot of practice."

"What?" Lillet asked, the surprise of it punching through her tears to get her attention.

"Sit up," Amoretta tugged on Lillet's arm. "Let me look at you."

Because it was Amoretta, Lillet let her guide her upright, turning her so they were sitting on the edge of the bed facing one another. Amoretta took Lillet's face between her hands, her fingers cool against skin flushed hot from crying.

"I believe in you, Lillet," she told her lover to her face. "This is only one mistake, one setback. It's not the end of everything, far from it. I know in my heart that you're going to see us through this." She leaned forward and kissed Lillet, a soft, lingering caress of lips, then kissed her again with more urgency.

"Amoretta--" Lillet began, reaching up to take her hands, but the other girl wouldn't let her.

"No, Lillet, please...let me show you how I feel." She kissed her again, then embraced Lillet, holding her close. Amoretta's lips tickled along Lillet's jawline up to her ear, which she teased gently with her breath. "Let me show that I don't hate you for making a mistake." She nipped at Lillet's earlobe. "That I believe in your love."

"Amoretta, this--ah!--isn't the time--"

"Yes, it is." He fingers brushed back Lillet's white, lace-trimmed mantle, then dipped to the buckle holding her stiff, dark overdress closed. As the mantle's collar fell away, Amoretta bent her head and her lips kissed down Lillet's neck. Lillet made one more feeble attempt to resist before Amoretta's tongue swirled in the hollow at the base of her throat and she was lost as she was urged backwards onto the bed while Amoretta opened her dress.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, Lillet's skin damp with sweat pressed against the homunculus' silken coolness. Amoretta did not perspire, as far as Lillet could tell; her artificial biology did not include it. It was a mystery why she so definitely did possess a sexual capacity, since her creator had been as dispassionate and scientific an experimenter as Lillet had known; Dr. Chartreuse had certainly never made advances to Amoretta nor ever intended to, yet he'd made her capable of accepting them. The only thing either of them had been able to conclude was that he'd simply designed, as best he could, a perfect female body without consideration for what Amoretta would or wouldn't actually do with it.

Whatever the reason, Lillet thought as her head lay pillowed on her lover's bare shoulder, she was very glad of it.

Amoretta smiled her sweetly innocent smile while gently stroking Lillet's hair.

"Do you believe me now, when I say that you didn't do anything to hurt me?"

"How could I not?"

"Good, because it's true. I do have faith in you, that you'll find a way to save me from this situation. You saved me from worse before, after all. I believe in your promise."

"Oh, Amoretta," Lillet kissed the other girl warmly.

"It isn't just me, either," Amoretta said.

"Do you mean Gaff?"

"No, although I'm sure he does believe in you, too. The person, or people, I meant were the ones who took my flask."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Well, when they found out that you were trying to use a trick to find what they'd done with my flask, they _could_ have just given it up as a lost cause and killed me. They didn't do that, though. They didn't even issue any threats. I would say that means they believe very strongly in your magic. Either they absolutely need you and no one else to achieve their aim, or they're afraid of what you'll do if they do kill me."

"I only wish that I really had the kind of talent everyone thinks I do."

Amoretta propped herself up on one elbow, her pale hair streaming down over her shoulders like a waterfall.

"Modesty is a virtue, Lillet, but underrating yourself is not being humble. It's just another kind of lying. I know that you feel like you've had an unfair advantage, but even if the accident of the Philosopher's Stone made it possible, you _are_ a great magician. Even the professors at the Magic Academy weren't at over-Mastery level at _every_ kind of magic like you are. You have to accept who you are, Lillet, and not be scared of it."

"Accept who I am?" _But she's right. I do hide from it. I do feel like I cheated, somehow, by using my trips through time to learn magic. But this power wasn't given to me; I earned it through hard work on my own. I didn't do it for ambition's sake, but to save my teachers, my friends, and Amoretta. Why should I hide from it now, when Amoretta needs me as much as she did then?_

"You're right, Amoretta. You're absolutely right, about everything. If I don't accept what I can do, then I can't use that power to the fullest, and I need to use everything I can if I'm going to save you. If only I could figure out how they knew what I was doing..."

"Could they be scrying us?"

"No; they could use the flask to target you or maybe if they stole some of my hair out of my brush or something during the theft they could use that, but we're both magician enough to notice. The room is warded against general scrying spells--honestly, most of the palace is anyway, just as a security measure--and Gaff cleaned out the things that got broken so if they took a piece of them to scry they'll be looking at the rubbish heap. Someone had to be watching somehow, though, to know what I was preparing and--oh!" The answer hit her like a thunderbolt. "Of course! _That's_ what it is! I should have thought of it before!"

"What?"

"Master Tanqueray as good as told me when he was complaining about our break-in last night. It was the same as what the magician did here to our room. They couldn't have triggered the palace's security wards or else there'd have been a general investigation, which would defeat the purpose of blackmailing me. It was just like we did last night: they didn't break external palace security because they were already inside. It's what let them know I was up to something in the lab and have the chance to ruin my candle. The magician is a colleague here at the Royal House of Magic!"

"I'm surprised that a Royal Magician would turn criminal."

"Me, too. I guess that ambition, or envy, or greed can get to anyone. Being so close to political power and all the alliances of Court probably just makes it worse." She sighed. "I hope I never get like that."

"Don't worry; I'll stop you."

Lillet grinned wickedly at her.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about being tempted into evil deeds by lust. After you're through with me I wouldn't have any energy left to be lured by anyone else."

"Am I really such a demanding lover?"

"Of course not, silly. I was just teasing." Lillet kissed the tip of Amoretta's nose.

"Oh. I guess I'll have to try harder, then." Amoretta's arms snaked around Lillet and pulled her close.

-X X X-

Dusk was shading the sky against the window as Lillet leaned back, staring up at the canopy of the bed. Amoretta was curled against her, asleep, one arm across Lillet's body just under her breasts and a leg hooked around Lillet's at the ankle. She really didn't know what she'd do without the lovely--and loving--homunculus. Amoretta had certainly smashed apart the depression and fear that had possessed her. More than that, she was completely right about what she had to do.

She was up against a Royal Magician at the least, either as the prime mover in the plot or as one of a group--the use of "we" and "us" in the extortion note might be the truth or just more deception. That meant she couldn't use the public facilities or risk giving her game away. Besides, a palace wizard would be prepared for the ordinary tricks like scrying candles and spying familiars.

If only she knew who it was. That would change things dramatically. The magician had covered his tracks, though, even going so far as to kill the only witness against him.

_Wait a minute._

If the magician had caused Beammest's death, he did it because the thief knew something important, like the face or identity of whomever had questioned him. There was no other point to killing someone sentenced to years in the Pit. So, Runcifer Beammest did have valuable information. Admittedly, he was dead. That was a problem. But it wasn't an insoluble problem. It would be for an ordinary magician, but like Amoretta had said, Lillet had to start thinking in terms of what she was actually capable of doing.

A trickier problem, though, was the issue of how to go about her business unobserved. Even if she could raise the shade of Beammest from Purgatory, there wouldn't be much point if the magician could watch her do it. She needed freedom of action, a way to make her observers believe she was somewhere that she wasn't.

"What I need," she said aloud, "is a way to be in two places at once."

Amoretta stirred in her sleep, poking her knee into Lillet's thigh. She'd always been a restless sleeper; Lillet remembered how on their first night together they'd shared her narrow student's bed and Amoretta had actually managed to push her out of it twice. It came from being a homunculus; born as she was in her present form Amoretta had never before felt the warmth and closeness of being loved and so she squirmed and pressed as close as she can.

That was when Lillet realized how she could do it. She looked at her sleeping lover and the idea came to her how she actually _could_ be in two places at once.

Assuming, of course, she could figure out how to do an incredibly complex piece of magic no one had ever done before and make it work all within twenty-six hours or so.

She let her fingers trail through Amoretta's gossamer-soft hair, letting the strands gently stroke her skin.

_If it's for you, I'll find a way._


	8. Chapter 7

It took Lillet almost ten hours of poring over alchemical and sorcerous grimoires and writing and rewriting the design of her Rune before she had it down to what she hoped would work. Gaff fetched her a dinner tray from the kitchens and made tea twice but otherwise left her alone, while Amoretta simply waited with literally inhuman patience.

When she finally dragged herself into bed, the work was complete in theory. The _practice_ of it began the next day. The Rune was not only difficult to prepare, but it was not even like the harder Runes in her grimoires, for it had never been tested before. Moreover, it needed the support of two conventional Alchemy Runes, the Laboratory to provide the basic materials and the Chimera Spawn to support the creation's life force.

It took four tries to get it right, and took long into the afternoon since after each failure Lillet had to rest and replenish her spent mana as well as correct the flaws in her design.

The end result, Lillet thought, was everything Amoretta had suggested: a work of magic that only Lillet had the ability to create. It was over-Mastery work in alchemy to begin with, but it also took practical experience in the arcana of sorcery as well. Only to devils was the human soul an object, something separate and distinct from the person that could be bartered. Likewise, Lillet doubted there were a lot of magicians who had experience in trading their _own_ soul who still had possession of it.

What she'd created was based on Dr. Chartreuse's design for Amoretta, an artificial creation of alchemy but built around a previously existing spirit as a core. Only in this case it was not an angel's spirit but Lillet's own soul that made that anchor. This was what had given shape to the creation's human form--it was an exact duplicate of Lillet herself.

"Lillet!" Amoretta gasped as the new familiar emerged from the Rune. "You made a homunculus of yourself?"

Lillet sagged to her knees, exhausted, and let her creation answer the question.

"Not a homunculus, although it is based on Dr. Chartreuse's work in making you. Actually, I'm more technically a chimera: an incomplete life form made through alchemy, by pure manipulation of the natural laws."

"How long will she last?"

"Probably around thirty-six hours," the chimera said. Lillet had done that for a variety of reasons, but the most important was that she wanted to get her soul back when this was all done! A homunculus had no fixed lifespan, and could go on for years and decades, and Lillet wasn't going to make something, then kill it to retrieve her soul. Better by far to use a chimera, and let it simply live out its allotted life.

"You look and sound just like Lillet," Amoretta marveled. "You even feel like her. I touch your hand and I can sense Lillet within you."

"That's because I used my soul as her core," Lillet said. "The angel inside you probably can sense that."

"Your soul!" Amoretta yelped.

"It's all right. I should get it back. Probably."

"Lillet!"

"I needed a duplicate that would look like me, sound like me, but more importantly _act_ like me. Illusion could take care of the first two, but not the third, and magicians and familiars might sense it anyway. She can also function on her own like you can, while I'd have to command an illusion. Since the point is to be somewhere else while she's pretending to be me, that wouldn't work."

"Lillet, how could you do something so dangerous? You could have killed yourself playing games with your soul like that!"

"That's why she didn't tell you," said the chimera. "We'd take any risk if it meant saving you."

"Besides," Lillet said with a smile, "it worked, so there's nothing to worry about!"

"That's not the point, Lillet!"

"Of course it is. You've died for me, Amoretta, so at least allow me to take risks for you." She got to her feet, where she swayed as badly as after too many glasses of Master Benedictine's root punch at the Midsummer's Eve party. "You said you believed in me and my magic, so please keep thinking of it that way."

"Oh, Lillet," Amoretta sighed, embracing her. "How can I ever thank you for this?"

"Don't be silly. If you didn't love _me_ you wouldn't be in this fix in the first place. Besides, there are no debts where love is concerned."

"No, I suppose there aren't."

"Speaking of which, can you help me to the bed? I'm about to drop from exhaustion, here."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course."

"Thanks. I need to rest up for tonight. While you and my doppelganger go to the meeting in the crypt, I'm going to be in a graveyard raising the spirit of our dead witness." With Amoretta's help, Lillet tumbled onto the bed.

"Why am I going with her?"

"Two reasons. It'll cut down on the number of watchers I need to look out for, because if you're with what they think is me there's no one else for them to be on watch for." Lillet yawned, then went on. "Plus, she can't do magic, because she's a chimera, so if there's any protective spells to get past or something, I'll need to count on you...to do...it..."

With that, Lillet drifted off to sleep. She slept soundly and without dreams, a relief given the worries on her mind. When Amoretta woke her at eight o'clock, she felt rested--no, better than that, she felt refreshed, even energized.

"Wow, what happened while I was asleep?" she asked.

"It...well, you looked so exhausted," Gaff said hesitantly. He was pressing his index fingers together in a nervous little gesture.

"Gaff has been retrieving mana for you ever since you fell asleep," Amoretta said.

"Gaff, you have? I'm touched."

"It's...it's just that you need to be at your best tonight, that's all," he insisted. Lillet giggled. _He's such a typical boy! You'd need wild horses to drag out an admission that he cared._

"Well, I certainly will be. Thank you." Certain familiars, including elves, were much better than humans at extracting mana, the raw energies of magic, from the environment. In a large-scale wizardry battle magicians would send out squads of such familiars to gather mana to keep fueling their spells. Gaff had fulfilled the same function, restoring all the power Lillet had spent on making her doppelganger and more besides. "We'd better get started, then."

She looked over at the chimera. Amoretta had gotten the imitation Lillet dressed in one of Lillet's own dresses and steeple hats. The effect was positively eerie. It reminded her of old fairy tales about ghostly duplicates that would haunt their originals for the purpose of stealing their souls. The thought made Lillet shudder, considering what she'd done.

_This is no time to be silly_, she told herself harshly. _Remember what's at stake._

"All right, then; we're off!" the doppelganger said cheerfully.

"Come on, Grimalkin. We may need you." The cat scurried over to his mistress and hopped into Amoretta's arms.

"Be careful," Lillet told her.

"You, too."

They shared a quick goodbye kiss and then the two alchemically-made ladies left the room to Gaff and Lillet.

"Well, that's done," Lillet said.

"So how are you going to get out of here? If the bad guys had somebody watching in the halls and they see two of you walking around, they'll know something is up."

"That's easy. I'm going to call on one of your cousins."

"Oh?"

"Right. A little touch of pixie dust and I'll be invisible."

"Pixies? Those guys can't go two seconds without poking their noses into everything. It'll take me an hour to clean up! You'll probably have to bribe them, too. I hope you've got a gallon of honey on hand, because that's what those greedy-guts will take."

It actually required only half a pint of honey--the size of the pot on the tea-tray--to satisfy the pixie Lillet called up. That was why they weren't one of the typically-used Glamour familiars; their lack of will to help without payment and their lack of inclination to take orders made them unsuitable to depend on in a battle. In this case, though, it went perfectly, letting Lillet leave the Royal House of Magic invisibly. She nearly startled a fruit-seller out of his boots, in fact, when she faded back into existence while walking past his barrow.

The potter's field where the capital buried its unclaimed or unknown dead was a desolate place, especially by moonlight. A yew hedge blocked the side facing the city, pierced by an open gate next to the gravedigger's hut, but the other sides were left open to the countryside. Lillet had no trouble in slipping into the burial ground unseen; it was sad how little care was taken.

The field itself was open and barren, with scrubby grass littered carelessly by crisped, dead leaves from the nearby trees. While the caretakers probably had some kind of map showing where they'd already dug, so that they didn't accidentally unearth one corpse while burying another, there were no markers to show where the graves might be. That would be a problem if Lillet were a grave-robber trying to dig up a specific body, but she wanted the spirit, not the corpse. It was enough for her purposes that the body was there _somewhere_, a physical connection between this world and Beammest's spirit.

Otherwise, the casting was similar to when she'd retrieved Grimalkin for Amoretta. She began with the basic Hades Gate, the Rune used to summon ghosts and phantoms, then made alterations to call more strongly to the one ghost she wanted and to shield out the spirits of others. The completed Rune shimmered into existence, its pale blue glow making the desolate graveyard seem even eerier.

"Spirit of Runcifer James Beammest! Come forth from the depths of Purgatory and attend to me here!"

The Rune sprang to life, blue fire flashing along the outlines of its design. From within it, Lillet caught hints of manlike forms reaching and clawing upwards, the dead seeking once again to enter the world if only as a bodiless apparition.

Then it was there, a leaping, dancing sheaf of blue fire drifting in the air, with nothing but two paler spots like eyes to let Lillet know it was a sentient being. As it appeared it gave a sepulchral moan as it was yet again exposed to the living world yet without the physical form to affect it.

"Answer my questions truthfully, spirit," she told the flickering flame. "Move up and down for yes, and side to side for no." Just like nodding or shaking its head.

The ghost bobbed up and down. There was no question of it resisting; once summoned, Beammest's spirit was no different than any other familiar and a minor one at that. The only tricky part had been getting the _right_ one.

"In life you were a thief named Runcifer James Beammest?"

It bobbed up and down. Yes. That was good; her Rune had worked.

"Did you commit suicide?"

Side to side. Again good; it proved that she was on the right track in going to the trouble of summoning it.

"Were you murdered?"

Yes.

"Did a magician kill you?"

This time, though, it hesitated, not moving. Lillet blinked in surprise; there was none of that you-get-three-questions nonsense about proper necromancy. Then she understood and let out a sigh.

"I've got to pay more attention to how I phrase my questions. Did a magician's _familiar_ kill you?"

Yes. _Okay, that's better._

"Was the magician there?"

Yes.

"Did he--come to think of it, _was_ the magician a he?"

Yes.

"All right. Did he interrogate you about when you broke into my room?"

Yes.

"Did you tell him about the flask that you picked up?"

Yes again. Thus far, the ghost had confirmed everything Lillet had already assumed about the series of events, but that didn't help much going forward. It was time for some more relevant questions.

"Do you know the magician's name?"

This time the ghost indicated no. _Blast._

"Did you get a good look at him?"

Yes. That was more like it! Lillet could see her enemy's face, and if he really was a fellow Royal Magician she'd probably recognize him.

"Show me."

The ghost's outline flickered, and then it steadily twisted and flexed until it was the vague shape of a man. Steadily the flames took on more form and definition, until floating in the air was a two-foot effigy. Though it was all in shades of translucent blue, the depiction was perfect and detailed. Lillet recognized the outfit first as a priest's cassock--explaining how the magician had gotten into the prison--then leaned in to get a closer look at the face. It was long and thin, with an aquiline nose and cheekbones so sharply defined they almost looked like one could cut oneself on them. It was indeed a face she knew.

"Artos Benedictine," she said aloud. It was funny; she'd immediately thought of him upon seeing the Hades Gate in the Artifact Room, but had never made the connection between Benedictine's skill at necromancy, the Charon summoned by the trap linked to that room, and the Charon that had been used to break into Lillet's room when the flask was stolen. In her defense, at least half of the Royal Magicians were master-grade necromancers, but that it haven't even crossed her mind...

The image broke up and dissolved as the ghost could no longer hold its shape. With a wave of her wand, Lillet dismissed the ghost.

Now she knew whom she was facing. She didn't know why, but with any kind of luck Amoretta would be learning that within an hour or so.

_Then it's my turn._


	9. Chapter 8

The bulk of the ruined Grand Cathedral loomed over the square, its broken walls clawing at the cloud-streaked sky like the fingers of some great, skeletal beast. The moon had risen behind it, and it threw grim shadows across the cobblestones. The plaza, which was never empty during the day, was curiously deserted but for a few people here and there who scurried through as if haunted by the oppressive spectre that reared above them.

Amoretta stroked Grimalkin's back with quick, nervous gestures. The fallen cathedral reminded her of the prison, somehow, but while that place had been possessed by the diabolic only through its influence on human wills, she now felt it in a more literal sense.

She glanced at the chimera next to her. It looked exactly like Lillet, even sounded like her, but it was not her. Amoretta felt bitterly alone, almost abandoned. She always felt that way when they were apart. She truly _needed_ Lillet in a way that she couldn't quite put into words or even express in actions. Perhaps it was a flaw in her artificial existence, or it might have been created from the gulf between her angel's spirit and the body she wore.

"Aren't we going in?" the doppelganger asked, seeing Amoretta's hesitation. "We're late." Proving her point, a bell rang out, the clock tower atop the new Grand Cathedral marking the half-hour.

"Yes, we are. Keep a careful watch; I don't like the look of things."

"All right, Amoretta. You'd better stay behind me, though. Lillet wouldn't want you hurt."

They walked up the steps to what had once been the doors but was now an open arch, broken apart at the top. They passed through the nave into the sanctuary, and found the stairs to the crypt behind an intact door at the far end of the room.

"This door is still in good order," Amoretta noticed. "The lock isn't rusted at all." She pressed the flat of her hand against the door. "There's something else, too, the residue of a spell."

"A ward?" the chimera asked. "Some kind of barrier spell?"

"I'm not sure, but this door was both physically and magically sealed and now is not. There might be something here, not just an obscure meeting place."

It was odd hearing the false Lillet discuss various kinds of magic with apparent knowledge. _How much of herself did she put into the copy?_ The notion of using one's own soul in such a way revolted her on some level, perhaps a ghost of the angelic existence she no longer remembered. _Oh, Lillet..._

"Let's go down," she suggested, lighting a lantern since the moonlight would not penetrate into the intact room beyond. They descended the stairs, noting the footprints that marked the dust. There seemed to be at least three or four persons, which Amoretta found odd. While there were many familiars with bodies of physical substance, these footprints were of ordinary, human-sized feet.

"They're here," a man's voice called out as the women reached the bottom of the curving stairs. The air was musty and stale, thick with dust, a fit place for crime.

The man who'd spoken was lean and athletic, wearing simple dark clothes of common cut but good condition. He held a drawn saber in his right hand, the steel well-kept and glinting in the light of the two lanterns that lit the crypt. The second lantern was in the grip of another man, burlier though shorter than the first and similarly armed.

"Don't get any ideas because we're not some fancy magic-tossers," the shorter man said. "A foot of steel through the heart will kill you as dead as any devil's fire."

"They get the point," hissed another voice. Amoretta looked, and saw a large black rat perched on one of the crypts.

"Are you the one called Tempell?" Amoretta asked.

"Of course." It looked over at the doppelganger and asked her, "You brought the homunculus with you?"

"It's her life at stake. Why should she have to wait at home? Besides, Amoretta is often helpful with my magic."

The rat sniffed; Amoretta wondered if it could somehow scent the doppelganger's artificial nature. If so, though, Lillet's soul should trick the devil, making it curious but not of a substitution.

"If you must."

"Why are we here? Surely there are dozens of places in the city where we could talk without having to crawl around in a dusty crypt."

"That is very true," stated a new voice. "I agree that a more congenial setting would be to my taste as well. However, the seal in this crypt would be difficult to break from a comfortable drawing room."

The voice was female, as was the figure that stepped out of the niche next to the effigy-capped sarcophagus of a bishop. She wore a heavy, dark hooded cloak over a blue dress, likely as much to keep off the dust that smeared it in several places as for concealment. The hood was up, concealing the face in shadow, but Amoretta's memory for sound extended to voices.

"Lady Anheuser? What do you have to do with this?"

-X X X-

Artos Benedictine leaned back in his seat, savoring the first puff on his pipe and letting the smoke stream out through his long, thin nose to waft up towards the ceiling. He flipped a card onto the green baize table.

"The nine, eh? Surprised you wasted it. I'd have sworn you knew I had the ten." Benedictine's opponent, the plump, red-bearded Manfred Riesling, proved his point by playing the card in question. "My trick, and my game as well, I believe." He totted up the score. "One hundred and seventy-four points at tuppence a point is seventeen silver eightpence. Really, Artos, your mind's just not on the cards tonight.

"You are right, and therefore I think that I shall cease further play." He pushed back from the table and rose.

"Well enough. Your servant, Benedictine."

Riesling had the right of it. Benedictine's mind was definitely _not_ on the game, but across the city with Lady Anheuser. He'd wanted to be there as well, but caution had forced him to send Tempell in his place. Bad enough that his employer would have to be there in person, but she had to be; it was a fundamental necessity. Benedictine was another matter. When dealing with a powerful magician as an enemy, it did not pay to show all one's cards.

Considering the quality of his card play that evening, he reflected, that was perhaps not the best simile he could manage.

In his heart of hearts, besides, he was almost glad to be away from the crypt. It galled him to be unable to perform a feat of magic, and he had no desire to stand by while a chit young enough to be his granddaughter did the job. Frankly, he'd rather she failed at it; after all, it was nothing to him if Lady Anheuser got what she wanted. No, puncturing that arrogant bitch Lillet Blan's pride would be the best result. Mage Consul, they intended to make her, Mage Consul! Well, she'd had plenty of suffering over that laboratory-made doll of hers, and there'd be more to come.

He exhaled, breathing out more smoke as he strolled from the lounge. Just then the meeting in the crypt should be going on, and soon enough they'd have an answer.

"Hey!"

The voice was high-pitched, feminine, and came from just above Benedictine's right ear. He turned to see a fairy hovering there, her bright insect-like wings buzzing.

"Is something wrong with your ears? I've been calling and calling!"

He glared at the familiar. Glamour was not his best field, and the rebellious free will of its spirits annoyed him.

"What is it?"

"Are you Master Benedictine?"

"Yes."

"Then here, this is for you." She thrust a folded note at him; he took it almost as a reflex and as soon as he did she flitted away down the hall. Apparently a reply was not required, or else the silly creature had just forgotten to wait. Curious, he unfolded the note.

_Artos:_

_I think I know how that blasted thief got into the Royal House of Magic. Meet me in the castle park so we can test it out and seal it off._

_Armand_

Benedictine sighed in irritation. Tanqueray was obviously barking up the wrong tree, since Lillet Blan hadn't come in from the park outside the palace. Still, maybe he'd found _something_, some hole in the palace security that needed to be plugged, and if nothing else it could lay an additional false trail that could cover his own involvement,

The timing, though, couldn't have been worse! If Benedictine couldn't keep his mind on a card game, how was he expected to deal with a discussion of magical wards and set Runes of his own? He wanted to ignore the whole thing and let Tanqueray stew in the night air, but the man would know his fairy had delivered the message. There was nothing to do for it but go, he decided, and angrily shoved the note into a pocket of his robe.

The area of the castle park that actually abutted the palace wall was an open field, free of obstructions so that sentries could both see anyone approaching and direct arrow fire if necessary. Benedictine had expected to see Tanqueray there waiting, but the man was nowhere in sight. Caution was in the magician's nature, particularly in criminal affairs; he sent a mental message to Tempell.

_How are things going there? Has Lillet Blan arrived?_

_Both of them have_, came back. Even the rat's mental voice was harsh and grating.

_Both?_ Benedictine replied, surprised.

_She brought the homunculus with her. Why are you so nervous?_

_Nothing. Merely one of my colleagues playing games._ Perhaps the fairy was supposed to lead Benedictine directly to Tanqueray but had flown off in a snit, disregarding orders. That would be par for the course for the little bugs.

He took a deep breath of the cool night air, then set off down the nearest path. Fallen leaves rustled under his feet as he stalked away from the palace, passing clusters of oak, elm, and beech trees and walking between hedge-like shrubbery. It was when he broke into a little clearing that he realized this could take half the night, given the size of the park and the obstructed view.

"Tanqueray!" he called, frustrated. "Tanqueray, damn it, where are you?"

Benedictine certainly wasn't going to stumble around the park half the night looking for the ward master. Using the stem of his pipe as a wand, he sketched out a basic summoning Rune and called out several ghosts. When the four azure flames bobbed in front of him, he sent them a mental image of Tanqueray. "Search this place, go find him, then come back here and lead me to him." The spirits flitted off. They could fly and pass through trees and shrubbery; let _them_ do the searching.

Regardless of the ghosts' advantages, several minutes passed by without their return and Benedictine grew more and more impatient with the passing time. Now and again he'd hear rustling from the shrubbery, some animal or bird no doubt, which nonetheless caused him to flinch. _More proof_, he thought, _of how tightly wound my nerves are over this business._

"I'll give you five more minutes, Tanqueray," he said aloud, "and then I'm going back inside before it rains."

All of a sudden the clearing was lit up by a blazing light from the starchild cradled in the hands of a Morning Star. At the far side of the clearing, next to the star spirit, stood a figure.

"_Lillet Blan_?" he gasped, almost choking on the words. "But how?"

"No, it's time for you to talk, not me," she said flatly, and the Morning Star sailed towards him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_NOTE: Reisling's name comes from yet another variety of wine._


	10. Chapter 9

"Miss Blan," Lady Anheuser stated in crisp, precise tones, "I have everything 'to do with this,' as you put it. It was done at my instigation and for my benefit. Indeed, you and your charming friend were invited to my musicale specifically so my employee would have a clear field to retrieve Miss Virgine's flask. Quite ironic, really, when you consider how her presence saved the affair from being a social disaster, but I am sure you'll agree with me that the cares of Court Society are of little importance in the overall scheme of things."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that," said Amoretta.

"Because I appear to be the very model of an aging dowager, the typical _grande dame_ who cares for nothing but her power within the world of fashion and frippery, music and matchmaking? Perhaps I am, at that. Do not forget, however, that to assemble and keep power in any arena one must possess intelligence and will, qualities that could not fail to advise me where my personal benefit lies."

"And where is that?" the chimera asked.

"Why, right here, of course." The lady gestured to the niche opposite to the one she'd been hiding in. Unlike the others that lined the crypt corridor, this one had neither sarcophagus nor effigy. Amoretta and the doppelganger came closer, and the lady moved aside, keeping the body of the crossbowman between herself and them. This also put Lady Anheuser and her followers between the two women and the exit from the crypt, a poor tactical position for Amoretta to be in.

Arguing over that now would have just raised suspicions, though, so Amoretta instead examined the niche. There was little to see; the walls were plain stone, the air so dry in the crypt that there was no hint of mold or nitre between the blocks. Amoretta would have assumed the niche was simply unused were it not that the floor was a single slab of white marble, inscribed with an ornate circular design.

"That is...a Rune," she realized. "But I don't recognize it."

"Neither do I," agreed the doppelganger. "What is sealed here, that requires a unique Rune?"

"So you recognize it as a seal?" Tempell hissed.

"Not particularly, but what else could it be under the circumstances?"

The rat glared at her. Amoretta wondered if the chimera had slipped, if this was something she should have known were she Lillet. If so, though, Tempell made no sign.

"It is indeed a seal, placed here by the express order of the Archbishop one hundred and seventy years ago," Lady Anheuser explained. "Within this crypt lies bound the mantle of Ashtoreth."

The name buzzed across Amoretta's mind like the brush of a butterfly's wing; she felt that she _should_ know it but yet did not. Perhaps it was the ghost of a thought from before her current physical existence, an idea which Lady Anheuser seemed to bear out with her explanation.

"She was a devil bound by Solomon. Myth says he stripped her power from her and imbued it in a mantle which he gave to Balkis, Queen of Sheba, in exchange for her favors."

"Stupid story," Tempell snapped. "If she had that kind of beauty and charm, what did she need with the mantle?"

"Ashtoreth's power is more than beauty. It is the power to influence minds, tempt souls. With it I will raise a kingdom of my own far greater than this rubbish heap, and I will reign over it forever, eternally young!"

This, then, explained the sense of the diabolic Amoretta had felt from the cathedral. While the church was in use, its consecrated state and regular performance of religious rites would have suppressed that force, but since it had fallen into ruin it was starting to leak out. It was lucky that apparently only the devil's power was there and not the devil herself, for Amoretta's dual existence as angel-made-flesh tempted them beyond measure.

The false Lillet looked from Lady Anheuser to Tempell and back again.

"So, nearly two hundred years ago, someone had an attack of good sense and sealed the mantle up where no one could get to it, but now you want it back. Only your pet magician couldn't break the seal, and so you want me to do it."

"Quite correct. My henchman did not like to admit it, but when pressed he was willing to admit that your formidable reputation, Miss Blan, was not entirely made of hot air. When you consider your very obvious affection for Miss Virgine, the next course of action seemed self-evident. Now, if you please?" She indicated the seal with a gesture.

Frantically, Amoretta tried to think of something to say. Deception of any kind was almost alien to her character. Her usual alternative to the plain, unvarnished truth was silence. She had to think of something, though; this was for Lillet!

The chimera, though, acted first and cleverly. She turned to Tempell and asked, "What did your master find out about this seal?"

"What?" it snapped, more a denial than a question.

"Oh, come on! He wouldn't have given up on the problem without working on it for hours. I'm sure Lady Anheuser doesn't want to sit here and wait all that time while I go through all the steps that someone's already done."

Tempell's nose twitched ominously.

"At least you're not wasting time." Which, Amoretta thought as it launched into a technical discussion of the seal's features, was the complete opposite of the truth.

-X X X-

"Blast you!" Benedictine roared, and hurled his pipe to the ground while shouting a word of command. It shattered on impact, bursting into a cloud of noxious black smoke which parted to reveal two massive demons: red-skinned, bat-winged, horned, cloven-hoofed monsters that he'd summoned and bound as an emergency defense.

Lillet's star-spirit hurled a flaming sphere at one demon while the other leapt at her, slashing with its claws. The problem was that the demons' claws were of limited use against the Morning Star's astral form, and would only be a temporary defense unless he could arrange some support.

_I have your measure, witch_, he thought as he quickly sketched out a necromantic Rune. Most of the summoned dead were astral entities, and he knew how to destroy as well as create them. Since he already had the Hades Gate opened, he called up a couple of phantoms, ghostly knights to aid the demons in fending off the star-spirit. The rattle of ghostly armor, the roar of bursting starfire, and the snarls of the servant devils rang out their tale of violence, but Benedictine shut them all out, concentrating on drawing his Rune.

In a few moments, it was done, and the withered, twisted form of a skeletal mage, its arms bound behind it and a noose around its next emerged from Purgatory.

"Destroy the Morning Star!" Benedictine cried. Obediently, the skullmage turned, eyes glowing balefully as it summoned the magic that would rend the spirit's astral form.

"Not so fast!" caroled a high-pitched voice, and six fairies spiraled down out of the sky. Their bows sung, sending sparkling elf-shot into the summoned corpse. It could do nothing to defend itself; its magic worked only on the astral plane. Desperate, Benedictine summoned another phantom, sending the ghost knight in defense, but it was too little, too late. Though it swatted down one of the fairies like an oversized bug, it could not act in time to keep the skullmage from being banished back into death with a rattle of collapsing bones.

Benedictine was getting desperate. His Runes blazed as he tried to summon more support, but even though the elegance of Rune magic let him call up familiars in seconds with a touch of his mind, it still took _time_--time that he just didn't have. The Morning Star had felled both phantoms and one of the demons that had tried to stall it, and the final demon was badly hurt. Benedictine's last phantom was busy with the fairy swarm. With a mental cry, he called back the ghosts he'd sent looking for Tanqueray, but they'd be unable to get there soon enough to save him. He glanced up towards Lillet and saw that she'd used the time to draw a fresh Rune of her own, a blazing crimson Hell Gate, and had called up a demon of her own into the fight.

_No time, damn it; there's no time! If only I had more time!_ he babbled to himself. But he didn't _have_ time to leisurely call up an army with his full powers. Instead he had to play his last, most extreme trump card.

_Tempell!_ It was a plea and a summon all at once. The devil-rat was his own personal familiar, bound to him by chains far tighter than the ordinary relationship of mage and minion. Instantly the rat appeared in a flash of crimson flame.

"Protect me!" he shouted. "Destroy her minions and capture her!"

The rat growled, digging its fingerlike claws into the soft dirt. It arched its back, hissing, its eyes blazing scarlet, and then Tempell swelled into immensity, its body twisting and expanding until it filled nearly half the clearing on its own, as big as a small house. Its fur flaked off as it grew, the pink flesh beneath toughening and darkening into hardened red and blue scales until what remained was clearly not a rat at all.

_Dragon!_

"Destroy them, Tempell! Burn them all!" Benedictine shrieked, a bubble of laughter working its way up his throat. The dragon opened its terrible maw and exhaled, a storm of flame washing across the battle. The Morning Star seemed to shatter into a thousand fragments, the fairies fella way, dead or banished.

"You see, Lillet Blan? How could an upstart like you think to challenge me?" the mage cackled.

"Okay, guys, you're on!" Lillet called, clearly not to him. In the next moment the shrubbery on either side of the clearing was ripped away by ropes held in elven hands, revealing ranks of glittering talismans, azure crystals the size of a man's head mounted on golden pillars. They were symbols, magical siege-engines, obviously advented and concealed specifically in case Benedictine had managed to summon something big.

The talismans fired, blasts of blue flame spearing into Tempell's flanks. The dragon roared in pain and lashed out, bathing the talismans on one side in flame. Frantically, Benedictine started to call up a fresh Rune, while sending his surviving minions after the talismans as well.

His Hell Gate was complete soon enough, and two more demons called to his defense, but he could scarcely believe his eyes. Six of the talismans were shattered and destroyed, the remaining two damaged, but his minions were gone. Only the dragon moved at all, ichor seeping from dozens of wounds blasted in the huge beast's body.

And Lillet had called up _seven_ demons.

Tempell blasted down the last two talismans even as the demons attacked. Two went after the dragon, and one after each of Benedictine's existing Runes. The remaining ones charged for Benedictine himself. He sent his own demons after them, and since his ghosts had arrived sent them down like fiery missiles. His mind reached for his Hades Gate, to summon more phantoms, and to the Hell Gate for imps, which he could conjure faster than demons. If his own demons could just hold the line--

They couldn't.

It wasn't even close.

Even as Tempell screamed its last in a defiant roar, Lillet's demons shrugged off the burning ghosts and grappled with Benedictine's fiends. They _looked_ the same, but were not. Lillet's moved almost twice as quickly; their strength effortlessly breaking their opponents' grasp. Black flames lingered in the wounds they tore in Benedictine's demons, burning at their life-force. _How could she command demons so powerful, and in such numbers?_

He realized, far too late, as the corpses of his demons were tossed aside casually, as his Runes shattered, their magic broken, that Lillet Blan's reputation had more to do with truth than he'd given credit. Gibbering, he panicked, and turned to run, but the nearest demon caught him in only a couple of steps. It hauled him off the ground, spun, and slammed him down on his back, driving the breath out of him. The demons stood over Benedictine, leering with bloodlust, their tainted claws like edged slices of the night sky atop their deep red hands.

"For God's sake, call them off! Call them off!"

"Master Benedictine, I don't want you _dead_," Lillet said, walking over to him. "Not if you're willing to talk."

_She's not even sweating_, he thought, unable to suppress the tremors that shook him.

The demons parted to let her stand next to Benedictine, though two still held him down with hoofed feet on his upper arms.

"It's simple, Master Benedictine," she said. Her polite use of his title burned like acid in his heart. Only now did he realize that he'd been judging her ability through the tinted window of his own jealousy, believing that since he'd beaten the defenses in her room to steal the flask, he could do the same in a battle she was actually there to participate in fighting. "You took Amoretta's flask. Tell me where it is."

"I...It..." he stammered.

Lillet sighed.

"Do I _have_ to threaten you? I'd rather not. I promise that if you tell me where Amoretta's flask is, then confess to the authorities and give testimony against anyone else involved, then I _won't_ hurt you."

He looked from her to the sneering, red-faced demons and made the intelligent choice.

"The flask is in a shop in the Merchant's Quarter, 17 High Court. Lady Anheuser owns it, but no one is renting it now, so we thought it would be a good, out-of-the-way place to keep it."

"Lady Anheuser!"

Benedictine smiled at her expression.

"You didn't know that? You said that you wanted me to testify, so I thought you knew she was the one I'd be testifying against. She was supposed to be meeting with you in the crypt now, and--" He was so startled that he tried to sit up, earning a searing pain through both arms as he essentially tried to yank them out of their sockets. "Ah! Damn it! But how the hell did you do that? Tempell would have told me if you weren't there!"

She wiggled her fingers at him.

"It was magic!"

With that she had the elves tie him hand and foot, then gag him with a strip off his own robe. The demon's claw that tore the strip made an effective illustration of what would happen if he tried to get away.

"I'd like to know more about what you and Lady Anheuser were up to, Master Benedictine, but I don't have time to wait. Amoretta needs me."

-X X X-

"What the--?" one of the swordsmen yelped when Tempell disappeared in a flash of light in the middle of telling the doppelganger about the seal.

"A trick!" shouted the crossbowman, and fired. The bolt slammed into the chimera's chest just below her right clavicle and she staggered back with a cry of pain. Amoretta gasped in shock, and the sight of Lillet taking such an injury stung at her heart, even though she knew it was only a copy.

The other two guards reacted to the crossbowman's shot and drew their swords. Amoretta's cat waved a paw, casting a sleeping spell on the nearest one; the soldier sagged against the crypt wall and slumped to the floor.

The chimera, meanwhile, glanced down at the bolt sticking out of her chest with a kind of quizzical, what's-that-doing-there expression. She gripped the shaft just above the fletchings and pulled. The bolt came out with a wet, sucking sound, without leaving a hint of a bloodstain on the borrowed dress. She flipped it aside and smiled happily. Apparently, the doppelganger didn't have conventional internal organs to puncture.

"Kill that thing!" Lady Anheuser ordered, understanding at once. "It's not Lillet Blan, but some kind of monster. The cat, too, but bring me the girl alive!" When the crossbowman started to reload, she snapped at him, "Not that way, fool. Use your dagger!"

The knife he drew was oddly shaped, like it was made to display on a wall instead of fight with, but its edge gleamed brightly with hints of silver. Perhaps it had been enchanted, or more likely had a short-term charm placed on it, to make it effective against magical creatures.

In the next moment, though, the situation changed. The doppelganger's arm twisted and flexed, extending into a six-foot whiplike extension that coiled around the swordsman's right wrist. With unnatural strength it bounced the hireling off the wall, stunning him, while his charmed sword fell uselessly on account of a crushed wrist.

That left the odds three-to-one against the crossbowman, and Lady Anheuser realized it before he did. She turned and bolted for the stairs while her henchman was still standing dumbstruck, staring at how the chimera's arm flexed back to an ordinary shape. He was still staring when Grimalkin used the last of his energies to put him to sleep.

"I didn't know that you could do that," Amoretta told the chimera.

"Well, I can't use magic, and I have to be able to protect you somehow. I don't think Lillet would have let you go into this place without her if there hadn't been any defense."

Amoretta nodded. That was very true.

"We'd better get after her. If we catch her, we might be able to make her return my flask."

They ran up the crypt stairs and back into the cathedral ruins, just in time to see Lady Anheuser, her hood back up, rushing out of the main entrance. They chased her, but by the time they picked their way through the stone-littered floor, an unmarked carriage was rattling its way out of the square.

"She's getting away!" the doppelganger protested.

"Do you see a carriage for hire?" Amoretta said, scanning the nearly deserted area.

"No, darn it, and unfortunately, I can't fly." She looked at Grimalkin. "Why can't you be an owl or something?"

"At least we found out who has my flask," Amoretta said. "She won't go run off and smash it, because you and Grimalkin would tell Lillet who did it. She's too smart for that. We've also learned why she wanted it. So things have gone fairly well for us."

"But if we'd caught her..."

A fairy chose that moment to swoop down.

"There you are! I've been waiting for you to come out of that nasty hole forever!"

"Did Lillet send you?"

"I don't know. Mistress looks just like her, though." She pointed at the doppelganger. "She said she knows where your flask is."


	11. Chapter 10

17 High Court had a sad, kind of faded look to it, the look of something that had once thrived but now was slumping into a dismal end. The metal bar from which a shop-sign had hung jutted out empty over the street, and the windows were boarded up. There was no sign of the carriage in the road, but wheel-tracks in the splattered mud led down the adjoining alley. A tiny glint of light showed through a crack between the boards.

Inside the room, Lady Anheuser was not in a good humor, Her carefully-laid plans had gone badly wrong, and she needed to figure out something so she could come about. Her first instinct when she found she'd been tricked was to smash the flask and teach those blasted girls the price of crossing her, but that would be folly, especially since she still had no idea what could have caused Tempell to vanish like that.

"There's been no message from Master Benedictine?" she verified.

The leader of the men she kept on guard at the shop shook his head. There were four of them in all plus the coachman, all members of her house guard though dressed in ordinary clothes rather than their usual livery.

"No sign of him, milady," the guard confirmed, "not even that devilish rat of his."

Lady Anheuser scowled. It could not be coincidence; the wizard had obviously fallen foul of some trap of Lillet Blan's. The fact that she'd sent that creature to the crypt in her place proved it. Why else would she have tried such a trick unless she needed a free hand to be elsewhere?

"Milady, what are we going to do now?"

"I don't know; be quiet and let me think for--"

The front door flung open suddenly, crashing as it struck the wall. Everyone whirled to see the figure of Lillet framed in the door, with Amoretta behind her.

"It's over, Lady Anheuser," the magician announced. "We know everything about your plot, and Master Benedictine will testify about it to Her Majesty. Give Amoretta's flask back." She pointed to where it stood on the shop-counter.

"No, I don't think so." Moving quickly for a woman her age, she snatched up the flask and darted towards the back of the shop while her guards swiftly interposed themselves between Lillet and Amoretta and their employer. They drew their charmed blades at once, weapons enspelled by Benedictine to work against the familiars that they'd expected to have to fight when their lady had started this project.

Lady Anheuser was still five feet from the door into the back of the shop when it was pulled open from the other side.

"Lillet Blan!" she exclaimed. The girl standing there was an exact copy of the one that had come in the front.

"When you're dealing with a magician, you should always have more than one guard on duty."

Lady Anheuser took a couple of steps back.

"Why don't you make things easy on yourself and give back Amoretta's flask?"

"No! Come one step closer and I'll smash it! And don't try any magic, either; I may not be a magician, but I know what it looks like when one starts casting spells!" Without turning her head, she called to her men, "Captain, kill that freakish copy, and give the other one a few bruises as a lesson. As for you, Miss Blan, step back through that door. You're in my way."

The Lillet blocking her path did so, retreating cautiously as she advanced. The room at the back of the shop was bare, stripped of whatever it had once contained by the creditors of the last owner. The back door was open and the man on guard slumped halfway through it, asleep or unconscious.

Meanwhile, the swordsmen rushed Amoretta and the Lillet with her. Amoretta drew her own sword, but Lillet shouldered her back, keeping herself between Amoretta and the approaching blades.

"Protecting her, huh? Fine by me; you're the one we need to kill," said the captain, and chopped down at her with an overhead cut.

It was hard to say which startled him more, that his stroke was blocked with a flaming sword or that the spectral form of its wielder had passed _through_ the two women to do that.

Two more of the ghostly warriors were upon them in another instant. One of the guards screamed and bolted, rushing towards the back of the shop. While the others' courage held, it was soon clear that their skill was not up to the task of confronting the phantoms of long-dead heroes Lillet had summoned.

When the terrified man burst into the back room, he bumped against his employer, making her stumble. Instinctively, she glanced back, seeing what had happened. She whirled back to Lillet, rage on her face.

"I told you what would happen if you tried any more tricks! This is on _your_ head!" With that, she hurled the flask at the plank floor as hard as she could.

It traveled less than a foot before the doppelganger's tentacled arm covered the distance between them, wrapped around the neck of the flask, and pulled it in safely.

"We switched places on the way here," she said with Lillet's impish smile. "You should really expect misdirection when you try to pick a fight with a magician."

For a moment, Lady Anheuser just stared at her, her face flushed with impotent fury. Then, as if she, like her plans, were falling apart before their eyes, she staggered back until her back hit the doorjamb, and then she slowly slid down the wall until she was slumped on the floor, bitter tears of frustration just beginning to flow.

The chimera walked past her without a second glance and brought the flask back to the real Lillet, who passed it back to Amoretta.

"Lillet, your eyes...Is something wrong?"

Lillet sniffed and wiped away the tears that threatened to pour out from her.

"I'm just so glad it's over, and that you're all right." She flung her arms around Amoretta's shoulders and crushed her lover to her, all but drowning in the rush of emotion as the tension and fear that had eaten the past few days drained away at last.

Amoretta smiled gently, using her free hand to stroke Lillet's hair.

"I don't know why you're so excited. I always knew you'd be there to save me."

-X X X-

"I just don't understand it," Thomas Collins remarked a week later to his friend Stefan de Sangri in the coffeehouse. "Yes, she was a bit high in the instep, but all the dowagers are. There's nothing new about that. How could she be guilty of...of..."

"Accessory to murder, kidnapping, extortion of a Crown officer, and trespass in heretical arcana," de Sangri recited.

"I don't even know what that last one _means_."

"It's the remnant of the old witchcraft laws, I believe. The practice of 'unhallowed sorcery,' or some such thing."

Collins was so shocked he dropped his half-empty coffee cup. It landed upright, but still sloshed onto the table.

"Never say they're going to burn her at the stake?"

"No, no, old boy, don't get all in a dither. It's the third charge that will do for her. Her Majesty is not fond of people who try to subvert officials of her government, especially in furtherance of a possibly treasonous plot. No, there will be no stake and fire for Lady Anheuser, but a simple trip to the headsman's block. I believe I shall attend; gossip has it there will be quite a crush."

Collins sighed.

"Bosom-bow of m'mother's, too," he said glumly. "Probably have to rusticate 'till the scandal dies down."

"Not before Friday, I hope."

"Why Friday?"

"Well, as we're on the topic of Lady Anheuser, do you recall the girl who sung at her musicale? Well, the _Gazette_ says that Miss Amoretta Virgine will be making her professional debut as the opening act at Camden Lane."

"I say! I'll have to catch that; she was wonderful!"

"Just don't get so carried away with her charms that you feel obliged to send flowers."

"Why not?"

"Really, Thomas," de Sangri drawled, "no one's worn green to the theater in years. It's simply not done."

-X X X-

"Mage Consul! Lillet, that's wonderful!" Amoretta exclaimed.

Lillet sighed.

"It's embarrassing, really. The worst of it is, Her Majesty thinks she's rewarding me for rooting out a treasonous plot and defeating a Royal Magician who'd turned mercenary."

She looked around the room.

"Well, I suppose it is a reward in one way. The salary is _much_better--it's on par with a Grand Council minister's stipend. We'll be able to move into a townhouse!"

"We will?"

"A house?" Gaff interjected. "There's no way I can keep up with a whole _house_!"

"That's true," Lillet mused. "Well," she concluded brightly, "you'll just have to have a staff help you."

"A staff?"

"Housekeeper, cook, maids, footmen, that kind of thing. You'll be the butler, of course, if you're willing."

"_Me_? A butler?"

"Certainly," Amoretta agreed. "Who else would we trust to be the head of staff?"

Gaff shook his head in amazement.

"A staff of humans working under _me_. Who'd have believed it? And serving a Mage Consul besides!"

Lillet groaned.

"Why does it bother you?" Amoretta asked.

"It's just so silly. I'm only twenty, and that's a title for legendary mages. Professor Gammel would have been Mage Consul if he didn't prefer to run the academy."

"You're as great a magician as Professor Gammel."

"You can't mean that!"

"Didn't we already have this discussion, Lillet?" Amoretta chided. "You really have to get past this modesty of yours."

Lillet blushed.

"My family will be really proud," she admitted.

"Well, then, we should celebrate."

Gaff groaned and shouldered his broom.

"I know what that means. Come on, Grimalkin; let's go for a walk."

"Indeed."

Lillet heard Gaff mutter, "I could have listened to my mother and became a garden elf, but no, I had to work for a magician," before she tumbled, laughing, into Amoretta's arms.

-X X X-

The dimly lit halls of Bastion Dunjon-Keep were heavy with the scent of dust and smoke. The lack of proper ventilation due to the need for security made the atmosphere foul and dank.

Two guards marched a prisoner down the hall between the ranks of solitary cells. Moans issued from behind some of the massive, metal-fitted doors, and curses from behind others, but the majority gave nothing but dead silence.

"'Ere we are," one guard said. "Number one-forty-seven." His heavy iron key rattled in the lock, and he swung the door open. The second guard thrust the prisoner inside. The slender, thin-faced man almost stumbled, but caught his balance. Like so many did, he spun back to the door so that it almost struck him in the face when it closed.

"Who's this one?" the second guard asked.

"Magician fellow, name of Benedictine. Guilty o' murder, treason, an' a bunch o' other stuff, but testified against 'is co-conspirators at trial, so as he got 'is sentence commuted ter 'avin' 'is magic sealed an' twenty years solitary, 'stead o' a stretched neck. Why?"

"Just curious, is all. His face looked kind of familiar."


End file.
